To Tame the Hearts of Men
by That-Fresh-Rain-Smell
Summary: Harry is subjected to a spell left by his parents-one that assures him a mentor if they are to die, but at what cost? SSHP
1. Chapter 1: In Every Death a Life

A/N: SO SORRY, Invictus readers. If you know anything about me/my fanfiction, you'll know I get distracted with new story ideas quite easily and have to run off and write them. Invictus WILL be completed, I just can't promise when. This process does help me make a better story in the long run, so I don't feel TOO bad. Also, I do not apologize to Yasmine. In fact, you could say this was all her fault. If you would like to blame her, remind her that it is not acceptable to make a person burst into tears in the middle of a Dennys. This multichapter was written in revenge for Yasmine's cruelty!

* * *

><p>Chapter One: In Every Death a Life<p>

Harry entered his fifth year of school at Hogwarts School and Witchcraft and Wizardry with the rather astute observation that people were, once again, talking about him. On ever mouth a whisper of last year's events could be assumed, if not outright overheard. Hermione and Ron stuck close to Harry, lending him their support as they moved through the great hall to take their places at the Gryffindor table, and glaring at anyone who dared even look like they intended to approach the boy-who-lived.

Dinner proceeded not too far off of normal. Hermione explained to Harry and Ron what the new DA professor had meant by her long, dull speech, and at the end of the meal they rose rather quicker than usual to find a private place to talk. They were interceded, however, by professor McGonagall.

"Potter, the Headmaster wishes to see you in his office. He implores you to bring Miss. Granger and Mr. Weasley, as he knows you share everything with them, and it might be wise to have them along—for support." The well-controlled professor has a look on her face as though she had just ingested something rather unpleasant, and was having trouble keeping it down. She also seemed nervous and agitated, something that caused the trio to wonder what could possibly make her look so upset. Worried themselves, they hurriedly rushed towards the gargoyle guarding the Headmasters office.

"Harry!" Professor Dumbledore greeted, not looking the least disturbed. "So glad you could make it, my boy. And of course Miss. Granger, Mr. Weasley, always a pleasure. Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?" Without pausing for an answer the headmaster conjured tea and pastries, encouraging them to take their fill. Harry and the others were still worried, but calmed by the headmasters exuberant manner, assuming that if things were indeed in dire straits, the headmaster would be—a least a little—more solemn.

"I'm sure you're all wondering what this is about," Dumbledore said agreeably, after his initial inquiries as to their health and happiness (and insistence on lemon drops). The three nodded eagerly. "Well Harry, your mother and father left a very explicit will, as you know. The Gringotts vault, a certain cloak…" Harry nodded his recognition. "Some of the things included in the will are things you are not supposed to receive or even be aware of until you come of certain ages, of course." Harry looked at Hermione, who nodded her agreement that most wizarding families did the same.

"What has Harry received now, sir?" Hermione asked, her curiosity too strong to do otherwise. The headmaster's eye's twinkled.

"Your parents, Harry, have written a request into the will that, if they were to die before your 15th birthday, you would become _Cliens_ to one of three men they chose. Those men, of course, were asked to sign agreement before the will was signed and dated." Harry looked confused, and Hermione looked vaguely ill, if not still overpowered with curiosity.

"Who?" she demanded, but her voice was overshadowed by Ron's sudden burst.

"My best friend is _not_ going to become some kind of—of play-toy for some dried up old man!" the other boy shouted. At his words, Harry stood up and confronted Hermione.

"What's he on about? What do you know about this? What in the hell is a _Cliens!"_

"Please, both of you, calm down. Sit, sit." Dumbledore's tone had the desired effect, and the boys sat, even though one of them looked near to rage and the other was nearing a look of disgruntled uncertainty, if not outright fear.

"Hermione, if you would please allow me to explain, I will answer your question in a timely manner," Dumbledore implored, waiting until Hermione nodded before he continued. "The _Patroni-Cliens _relationship is one of mentorship, Harry. Your parents wanted you to have a father-figure if things went poorly for them." Harry looked at his friends uncertainly. Ron looked like he was going to explode, and Hermione still had the ill look.

"What was Ron saying then, about a—a play-toy?" He blushed, unable to get disturbing mental images out of his head.

"The _Patroni-Cliens_ relationship was begun by the Greeks and adapted by the Romans, it is a very ancient tradition. Wizards, of course, have adapted it somewhat, binding the two men with spells and enhancing an emotional connection. Rather interestingly, the _Cliens_ is at a disadvantage of power to the _Patroni_, as the relationship would not work otherwise." Harry looked at Hermione for translation.

"A virtual slave, Harry. With the Greeks and Romans, the relationship was for freemen who had a lowly status in society, a _Patroni_ would actually help to advance their status; teach them things they would need to learn such as statecraft, art, music, etc. It was a type of apprenticeship, one that had advantages for a lowly freeman. The freeman would be fed and housed, well taken care of, and protected by his _Patroni_ until he broke away to set up a career or lifestyle on his own. But _Patroni_ never relinquished their _Cliens_, in a sense. Politically, they still held sway over anyone whom they had patronized. _Cliens_, when they left the physical protections of a _Patroni's_ household, would take on their own _Cliens_ and become a _Patroni_ to others, if they had the means, but they never ceased being a _Cliens_ to their original _Patroni_." Harry was beginning to feel how Hermione looked, thinking of himself as a virtual slave to one of three unknown men.

"And the Wizards? How did they adapt this?" Hermione looked at Dumbledore, who seemed engrossed in some sort of trinket and seemed perfectly content to allow her to answer.

"It's not much different, really. There are spells to bind a _Cliens_ to loyalty, and spells to bind a _Patroni_ to protecting his _Cliens_. The relationship is supposed to be mutually beneficial. A _Cliens_ will get the advantage of the knowledge, wisdom, and political power of their _Patroni_, and the _Patroni_ gets an unwaveringly loyal servant. Almost like the frugal houses in Britain, but more on a personal level, and with spells to bind the two participants." Harry scratched his head.

"It doesn't sound too horrible." He noted, looking at Ron.

"Horrible! Mate, you've got to let them bloody _bugger_ you whenever they bloody _feel _like it!" Ron exploded, and Hermione shot him an angry look as Harry stood up again.

"_What!"_ Hermione looked at him apologetically.

"The Greek and Roman tradition generally had a sexual nature to it; they are supposed to teach you _everything_, to be fair. The wizards oaths of loyalty translate loosely into doing whatever a _Patroni_ wants. You have no magical way to discern what they want, however, so the _Patroni_ would have to order you to sleep with them, unless you entered into it willingly and without the need of orders."

"Bloody unlikely!" Harry said, shocked by this idea.

"Harry, it's not at all as bad as it sounds, I doubt your parents would have chosen men who would order a fifteen year old boy to sleep with them." She tried to assure him, but Harry was looking forlornly at Dumbledore, feeling betrayed.

"It's the fact that they _could_ do it, Hermione, that I have an issue with. What happens if I refuse their orders?"

"The spell will…hurt you." Hermione responded, sounding truly upset.

"Bloody great. Can I get out of this?" Hermione looked at Dumbledore, who took a moment to rejoin the conversation.

"Not at this time, Harry. The Will is unbreakable—a child must do as his parents see fit, yes? That is the idea behind this particular type of will. If you do not go willingly, you will soon begin to feel compelled to spend time with one of these men, to eventually pledge yourself to them, yourself." Harry slumped.

"What do you mean, not at this time? Can I break the relationship eventually?" Dumbledore nodded.

"In a sense, Harry. As Miss. Granger implied, society will always see you as a _Cliens_ to your patron, and social and political aspects will still apply. But the spells themselves can be ended by the _Patroni_ who invokes them. You must, however, wait a minimum of three years before applying to your _Patroni_ to be released, or else the application will seem to the spell to be a type of disloyalty."

Harry hung his head in his hands. "Who is it, then? Do I even know them?" his voice was muffled and Dumbledore gave him a concerned look.

"The three men your parents chose were listed in order, so that if compelling you became necessary, the name at the top of the list would be the first you were compelled to seek out. In order, they listed Sirius Black, Severus Snape, and Remus Lupin."

"Noooo." Harry groaned. Each man was a horrible thought in its own right. Remus and Sirius, he'd feel betrayed and hurt, not to mention he wouldn't be able to get the thought that they could order him to sleep with them out of his head, which in no small way would strain their fragile relationship. Snape was just…Snape. Too horrible to even contemplate.

"Of course, Sirius Black is on the run, legally criminal and in no position to mentor you. Remus Lupin is underground at the moment, and poses similar problems, which leaves us with Severus Snape." The door opened, revealing the very man, and Harry sunk lower into his seat as his glare swept the room.

"Ah, Severus! I'm glad you could join us this evening. Please, sit." Snape frowned.

"No thank you, Headmaster. I find the company deplorable enough without being forced to sit among them." The man stood, looking as though he was only barely containing his rage.

"As we discussed earlier, Harry and his friends have been informed of the new relationship between yourself and Mr. Potter." Dumbledore said, a mite too cheerfully.

"Wonderful." Snape snapped, sounding as though it was anything but.

"Could—I mean, I doubt Snape—sorry, Professor Snape really wants to mentor me. You said I had to wait three years before applying to be released, but could he release me himself, if he didn't want to do this?" Harry asked, once again sounding hopeful. Snape sneered at him and answered, since it looked as though Dumbledore had no intention of doing so.

"The spell limits me to at least one year of Patronage, thanks to your mother's adjustments. As it is, Potter, the Headmaster has required—no, _ordered_ me to allow this abomination to go on for at _least_ three years. He thinks you'll be safer with me."

"That's likely." Harry said sarcastically.

"Indeed," Snape agreed menacingly.

"Why did my parents choose _you_," Harry asked bitingly. Although Snape hadn't really insulted him yet, he felt defensive. Snape glowered but did not respond.

"Severus and your mother were friends in childhood. While James no doubt argued, Lily insisted on having his name drawn up. She was the one to convince him to sign the agreement." Dumbledore supplied when it was obvious Snape was not going to.

"_Friends!_ What did she see in that git?" Harry yelled, unable to reconcile himself to the ridiculous situation.

"Perhaps, Harry, something you yourself refuse to see." The headmaster responded in a quietly admonishing tone, and Harry suddenly burned with shame. Snape seemed even angrier, but was holding his tongue in a remarkably abnormal fashion.

"So—er…" He wasn't going to apologize, but moving on seemed as good an idea as any. "What do we do now?" It seemed the most straightforward of questions.

"The spell has already been invoked, Harry, and it is necessary for you to move into Professor Snape's quarters. The rest of the school—and for the time being, the wizarding world—will be informed that you've been given private rooms in order to keep you safe." Harry sighed, unable to even protest any longer. He felt as though everything had changed in a sudden, stomach-jerking motion, and he was too in shock to respond the way he ought.

"You mean, for the safety of everyone else, to keep them from the boy-who-lived and his madness," He corrected wearily, slumping into his seat.

"That is no doubt what the press will assume, my dear boy." The headmaster looked at him sympathetically, but Harry wasn't in the mood to feel comforted.

"Alright, well, I guess I'll get my things." He said, standing. Hermione and Ron looked as though they wanted to spirit him away and hide him, or perhaps just hug him, but he walked past them to the door.

"You'll see, Harry. This isn't nearly so bad as it seems." Dumbledore assured him. Harry didn't respond.

* * *

><p><em>Sniveling fool<em>, Severus thought as he strode unthinking towards his chambers. Certainly, he has nearly forgotten about the _Patroni-Cliens_ spell that Lily has begged him to be part of, never considering that she would die, never considering that _he_ would suddenly be the most able of the three chosen men to carry out the duty. _But the child needn't be so disturbed!_ It wasn't as though he intended to take Harry Potter to bed. In fact, he intended to stay as far away from him as he could and still fulfill the spell.

Lily had been his friend, a long time ago, and that friendship had endured regardless of the circumstances that followed its seeming end, when James Potter decided Snape was a threat. One could hardly forget the one person in the world who would nurse him back to health after his father's beatings and unending screams of '_faggot!'_, after all.

He owed the woman a debt he likely could never fill; she had been the sole reason to keep going, sometimes. The only reason things such as honor, loyalty, and morality still existed for him. If not by her example, he likely would have become something like all the other Death Eaters, something like the Dark Lord. Abused by the world, taking revenge through power. Lily had shown him another way; he owed it to her—and, however much he despised it—her son, for that.

But by Merlin, he hated the brat. So like James; thoughtless, uncaring, cruel. And now, to _live _with him? He had kept himself civil—as civil as possible—during the meeting with the headmaster; as much as he hated him, he was soon going to have to live with Harry Potter, try to teach him something…and if nothing else, Severus Snape took his duties seriously. But the effort had been momentous, and a not-so-small part of his mind wanted to make the next few years as horrible as possible for the boy. Convincing him that Severus intended to bed him could be…interesting. He never claimed to be the best of men, after all. With this satisfying thought, he reached his quarters and set himself to await the boys arrival.

* * *

><p>Harry gathered his things, said a terse goodbye to Hermione and Ron—who were looking increasingly worried—and headed off before he realized he had no idea where Snapes quarters were. Luckily, he ran into McGonagall as he began heading in the general direction of the dungeons.<p>

"Potter!" The woman sighed. "I take it you've spoken with Dumbledore." She seemed resigned now, and her earlier agitation suddenly made sense.

"Yes, er…do you know where?"

"Severus's quarters? Yes, this way, I'll take you." They walked in silence for a moment before she spoke again. "I'm sorry, Potter. I tried to talk to him. Them." Harry fidgeted.

"It's okay, there was nothing you could do," he tried to sound reassuring, but it came out sounding questioning. She shook her head.

"The parameters of the spell are quite extensive, Lily and James must have worked on it very hard." Harry was still struggling to figure out why his parents had done this to him—with_ Snape!_—and didn't respond.

"Here you are, Potter." McGonagall said as they came up outside of a nondescript door. "I've no doubt he's waiting for you. If you need anything…" She trailed off, looking uncertain about what she could possibly do if he did. He nodded at her anyway.

"I will, thanks." He tried to smile, and she squeezed his shoulder and left. Take a deep breath, he entered the room.

* * *

><p>AN: So? What do you think?


	2. Chapter 2: A Pledge too Deep to Sunder

Chapter Two: A Pledge too Deep to Sunder

"Er…Hi." Harry Potter, eloquent as ever, now stood in his sitting room, the door shut and locked behind him. As little as the boy himself appealed to him, the idea of a _Cliens_ was an altogether different matter. Unwavering loyalty, faithfulness…something to fuck whenever he wanted. Severus Snape never claimed to be a good man, and the perks of the relationship were too appealing to ignore. If it were not Harry bloody Potter, he might find himself actually pleased with the circumstances. As it was, he glared at the child who looked so obviously anxious.

"Unfortunately, I was not in the least prepared for this sudden change in events, and therefore I do not have a place to sleep prepared for you." He said, ignoring Harry's discomfort and striding towards his bedroom door. "You may keep your things in here, but as for where to sleep…" Harry followed him slowly with his things, placing his trunk at the foot of the large four-poster bed and trying not to gawk as he looked around.

"The couch is fine, Sir." Harry said, unsure. He wasn't sure of _anything_, at the moment. Was Snape implying he _did_ want a sexual relationship, and that he intended for Harry to sleep in his bed? The thought filled Harry with fear, more than revulsion. He had not had any time for romantic—or sexual—experiences, and was subsequently at the mercy of an all-too-normal teenage affliction; terror over their first time. That, coupled with the fact that it was _Snape_, his hated, evil, snarky potions professor, a man twice his age, made him feel a very odd mixture of fear and anger.

"The couch is _not_ fine, Potter. I no doubt sleep far less than you, and would like to enjoy my sitting room as I see fit long after the time in which you will likely go to bed. I've asked Albus to help me appropriate adjoined chambers, but for the time being you will sleep here, in my bed." Harry looked at him, wide-eyed.

"With you?" he squeaked, and then coughed. The fear and anger rising in him has popped like a bubble, leaving something like excessive anxiety in its wake. Snape sneered at him.

"Yes, Potter, with me. Must I order you to it?" he asked, reminding the boy that he really didn't have a choice in the matter. The reminder went a long way towards bringing Harrys anger back; the boy glared hatefully and nearly spit when he spoke.

"Yeah, I guess you'd better, since apparently you can order me to do bloody _anything_ now, you'll have to order me to do whatever it is you want, as I'm not doing this very _willingly_, sir." Snape regarded him disdainfully.

"As you wish. I _order_ you to sleep in my bed until an appropriate medium can be found, Potter." The man looked as though he dearly wished to issue more orders, but restrained himself. He had initially intended to allow Potter basic freedoms, had intended to not order him unless the boy made it necessary. Since the spell would punish the boy, he didn't think it was fair to order him to, say, study harder, as the spell might interpret it as 'study all the time', and harm Potter if he even so much as slept. Snape was not familiar with the spell in the least, and although he assumed such things were safeguarded, he intended to be careful.

"What if I can't sleep?" Potter asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

"Sometimes I…I can't sleep. Insomnia. You ordered me to _sleep_ in your bed. Will the spell hurt me if I _can't_ fall asleep?" Severus hadn't expected such sudden vulnerability, but he supposed that since Harry was considering avoiding undue harm, it made sense.

"Fine, Potter, I retract my earlier statement. I order you to _get into my bed_ and _attempt to sleep_ for a minimum of five hours, every night, unless circumstances dictate you sleep elsewhere, and until proper accommodations can be found." Harry thought it through, trying to find a loophole in which, through no intentional defiance of his own, he might be punished. Apparently satisfied, he nodded, still _looking_ defiant, even though he apparently accepted the order. Angry as he was about it, disobeying would mean pain; something he did _not_ need more of. This was just another damn thing he would have to do—another thing like facing Voldemort. He might not want to, he might be afraid or even angry about it, but in the end, he would do it.

"Do what you wish for now, Potter. We will discuss more explicit rules tomorrow evening. Just know now that entering my private lab or study is death without permission." Snape stalked away, looking as though he wished he could be as far away from Harry as possible. When Harry thought it over and realized he wasn't tired enough for sleep, and that he _really_ didn't want to face his friends sympathy at the moment, he wandered into the sitting room to find Snape reading in a comfortable chair by the fire. He sat hesitantly on the couch with one of his books—_Magical Feats of Strength by Great Wizards of the Ages_—a present from Hermione. When Snape appeared to be intent on ignoring him, he relaxed into the couch and began to read.

"Potter." The firm tone brooked no argument and Harry reluctantly looked up, coming out of his reading slowly. "I believe it's time you attempt to sleep." The other man said, indicating the clock that read a quarter-past three am. Harry looked startled—had he really read that long? Putting the book aside sullenly—he did _not_ need to be told to get to bed, he was fifteen, thank you! He headed in the direction of the bedroom. He was only doing it because Snape—damn him—was right. It was too late, far too late when he had to rise early.

When he entered the room, he self-consciously shrugged out of his full robes and into his pajamas. Normally, on a night so warm he would have simply worn pajama pants and no shirt, but the reminder that he was virtually a slave here made him slip on a shirt—scant protection, if any at all, against insistent sexual harassment, true. But it made him feel better. He crawled into bed and for the first time in months found himself tired, exhausted from the day's events. It still took him ages to fall asleep—images of the graveyard flitting through his mind—but when he did, it was with a sense—making him both anxious and comforted—that he would not be sleeping alone. With the disturbing realization that he found this soothing, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Harry woke with a start, aware he was alone and still fighting lingering nightmares. When he came fully awake, he realized it was about 7am; the dining hall had just opened. Groggily, he stumbled through his morning routine, unfamiliarity with the room and bathroom muddling his attempts at normalcy. When he finally entered the sitting room, school bag over his shoulder, he saw Snape sitting in the same chair as when he had left, the same book opened on his lap.<p>

"Did you even sleep?" Harry asked, before remembering that he hated this man and had no reason to care whether he slept or not. Snape shook his head marginally, not looking up.

"I rarely sleep. I also assumed you might sleep better without company, this first night. I realize the situation is unsettling to you and I did not want to have to deal with you in class if you did not get much sleep. You're barely competent with a full nights rest." Except for the last part, Snape sounded downright considerate. Discomforted by this thought, Harry muttered a thanks and left for Gryffindor tower, intent on finding Ron and Hermione before breakfast.

"He _what!_" Ron exclaimed, looking furious. Hermione shushed him.

"Ron, traditionally the _Patroni_ and _Cliens_ are very close; emotionally, sexually, mentally. This is a aberration of the original intended relationship, and Professor Snape seems to be handling this very well. He seems like he was being rather thoughtful, actually, considering he didn't sleep in the same bed with Harry last night, even though I'm sure he doesn't enjoy sharing his quarters _at all_. " Hermione sounded surprised and thoughtful, something Harry was sure wasn't a good thing.

"He bloody _ordered_ Harry to sleep in his bed! How long before he _buggers_ him!" the red-headed youth asked, outraged. Harry winced, unable to block the mental image. Hermione looked at Ron disapprovingly, and he had the sense to look sheepish. "Sorry mate. This just makes me so bloody _angry_!" Harry snorted.

"Try being me." He muttered. Ron looked ashamed.

"I know mate, I'm sorry. I wish there was something…" Hermione nodded sympathetically, and Harry just shrugged.

"Hermione is right though, Ron. The bastard _does_ seem to be, well, understanding, I guess. Thoughtful. He looked like he wanted to give me a lot of other orders last night, but he didn't." Hermione nodded.

"Conceivably, things could be _much_ worse. I think it's safe to conclude that Snape is being honorable about this; he's not abusing his power." Harry looked at her distrustfully.

"It's only been one night. Let's wait to make that conclusion, okay?" She opened her mouth, likely about to point out the many other times they had been wrong about Snape, then closed it. It would be wasted breath, she reasoned.

The three ceased their discussion and headed to breakfast, walking with a certainty that hid their underlying worries.

* * *

><p>The next few weeks were terrible. Snape did not improve noticeably on his treatment of Harry, beyond giving him a certain amount of freedom by not ordering him unless pressed. In fact, Snape seemed to grow more cruel towards Harry as they spent so much time sharing the same space.<p>

The man kept his comments in check in private, but he seemed to make up for the lack in public. The first night Snape had slept beside him in bed—three nights after he had moved in—Harry had woken, horrified, to find himself curled up against his potions master. The man was lying on his back and seemingly asleep, and Harry quickly removed himself across the bed, hoping Snape hadn't noticed. Since then he slept less than before, and woke several more times to find himself somehow sleeping against the man in his sleep. He told himself it was lack of affection in childhood that made his sleeping self subconsciously seek physical comfort, but the thought was a small relief when he woke, once again skin-to-skin with the other man.

Harry had become slightly more comfortable in the quarters, going shirtless in the heat after it became clear that Snape was not going to jump him for sexual favors anytime soon. Snape himself slept shirtless, and Harry had to admit that his body—well muscled, pale, sturdy—was not at all what he expected of his potions master. _It's the robes_, he thought one night, looking when he could be reasonably certain the other man was asleep_. They hide his form, make him seem ugly. _A moment passed before he hurriedly went on; _Not that I _fancy_ him, or anything. I can just appreciate good form when I see it. I am a seeker, after all._ When his thoughts proved too unsettling, he rolled over to sleep, determined not to think of it again.

* * *

><p>Weeks after the new circumstances in Harry Potters life had begun, he was sitting in potions class, trying to stay out of his Professors way. It was abominable. It seemed that Snape had decided to compensate for his seeming civility by being absolutely horrible to Harry in class. Hermione had argued feebly that civility would look suspicious in public, but even her faint protests were quieted by the sheer maliciousness of Snapes attacks. Worse though, he used his new power over Harry in order to humiliate him.<p>

"Potter! I _order_ you to tell the class exactly _why_ you are such a failure." Harry, face red, stood and turned to face the man. If he disobeyed—if he didn't look inside himself for the truth—the spell would hurt him. Still, though, he was defiant.

"A failure in general, or specifically with potions, sir?" He asked, voice polite in an attempt to control his shame and anger.

"A general explanation will suffice." The man was enjoying this far, far too much. Harry took a deep breath.

"I do not know enough." He stated, a general explanation summarizing every fault.

"And why do you think that is, Potter?" Harry glared at his professor.

"Sometimes because I don't try as hard as I should, or because I have poor teachers. Mostly though, I never seem to have enough _time_. Vol—the Dark Lord didn't wait for me to be _ready_ before he came back." The class gasped, and Snape smirked. Harry had avoided using Voldemorts name—though it grated—because he knew how Snape responded to it, and wanted to avoid enflaming his Professor—his _Patroni_, he reminded himself—more.

"How inconsiderate of him." Harry suddenly realized, admits the stares of disbelief, that he was actually having _fun_.

"Right impolite, I reckon." He tried not to grin. Snape frowned.

"Take your seat." Harry did so, and even though Snape was as cruel to him as ever, Harry was realizing something astounding and could not be bothered to notice. Verbal sparring with Snape could be _fun_. If one disregarded the constant insults, it was almost as if Snape _wanted_ him to fight back, to defend himself…to prove a point. Snape was…could it be that Snape was helping him to hone his thoughts? Verbal skills? He thought back to previous classes, times when Snape had done similar things to humiliate him publically. Each time Harry had obeyed, still somehow defiant…and he'd improved. His wits were improving under the harsh tutelage. Wonderingly, he brought it up to Ron and Hermione outside of class.

"That's insane, mate." Ron said cheerfully, stealing a chocolate from Hermione as they sat in a stairwell in an unused corridor. Hermione looked thoughtful, and she didn't dismiss the idea immediately.

"Professor Snape is actually a rather subtle man, Harry. You might be on to something. He certainly doesn't like you, but you can't say he doesn't take his duties seriously. Maybe he's teaching you the only way he knows how." Harry nodded slowly.

"Well, I guess we'll see. Even if he isn't doing it intentionally, he's taught me something." With a loud, startling pop, Dobby suddenly appeared as Harry finished his sentence.

"Sorry mister Harry Potter, Master Severus Snape has been sending Dobby to be finding his boy, he is wishful of speaking to Mister Harry Potter sir!"

"His _boy?"_ Ron yelped, standing. Dobby flinched back and Harry put a comforting hand on the twitchy elf.

"The elves be knowing that Master Severus Snape is being Master Harry Potters _Patroni_, Master Ronald! We is only be calling him as is tradition among families that are practicing the tradition, sir!" Ron calmed down, looking at the elf sympathetically.

"I'm sorry Dobby, I didn't mean to yell at you. It just offends me to hear Harry called that," Hermione looked at Ron, surprised and appraising. "What?" he asked defensively. "A blokes got to mature sometime, right?" Hermione nodded thoughtfully, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Dobby is sorry Master Ronald! Dobby will not be using the term again with Master Harry, he won't!" When Dobby attempted to hurt himself with his bright pink scarf, Harry was ready to stop him.

"I guess I'd better go," he said regretfully, rising and saying goodbye before heading towards the dungeons. His friends looked forlornly after him, wondering if things would ever feel normal again.

* * *

><p>"Potter," Snape greeted as Harry entered, indicating Harry seat himself on the couch across from the chair where the man sat.<p>

"Er, about that," Harry started. Snape raised his brows. "Do you think you might call me Harry, in private? I feel like I'm about to lose points every time we talk, here." Snape smirked, but a moment later nodded thoughtfully.

"There _should_ be a distinction between private and public lives; this seems as good as any. Very well…Harry." Harry felt a slight thrill rush through him, but was uncertain about what it meant. He decided he was just happy to be treated as an equal, almost. "Though I insist you continue to call me Professor, Sir, or Professor Snape." So much for equality, Harry thought glumly, nodded. But, on the other hand, did he really want to call the man _Severus_? It seemed far too personal.

"You wanted to talk to me?" he prompted, fidgeting, nervous.

"Yes. I believe you have mostly adjusted to the…change…in our relationship, correct?" Harry snorted.

"I guess," he said noncommittally.

"Either way, I have given you ample time to adjust, and I believe it is time we move on." Harry had a ridiculous and horrified thought that that _here,_ surely, would come the order for sexual favors.

"Move on?" he asked, feeling heat rushing to his face. Snape eyed him, black eyes unfathomable, and didn't respond until Harry looked as uncomfortable as possible.

"This relationship is meant to be instructional, I am honor-bound to teach you thing I feel you should know." Harry didn't even respond to this, unable to shake the feeling that Snape was, at any moment, about to demand he strip naked and…do something. He wasn't all too versed in sex between males. In fact, when he was being honest with himself, he wasn't all too versed in sex, in general. Snape seemed to be enjoying his discomfort momentously. Harry cleared his throat to speak.

"What sort of things?" he asked, barely able to keep the strain from his voice. Snape smirked at him.

"The headmaster believes, at present, that Dueling and Occlumency be given top priority. We will start there. Today you cited the cause of your incompetence to be a lack of knowledge; I intend to fill you so full of knowledge that you will never again have such an excuse."

Harry, calmer now that it seemed they _weren't_ about to engage in some sort of forced sexual encounter, began to ask questions. Once Snape had explained to the best of his ability the lessons they would be undertaking—visibly making efforts to bite back his scathing comments—they agreed to begin lessons the next night, and Harry went off to bed as Snape settled in to read.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape watched the fire, unable to concentrate. He had begun avoiding going to bed lately, as all that awaited him was a boy who seemed intent on torturing him. If he wasn't being infernally annoying, insipid, ignorant, or rushing headlong into danger, the boy was pressing his half-naked body against his own. Granted, the boy was asleep, but that made the situation no easier to bear.<p>

Over the course of the past few weeks, Snape had grown to tolerate the new addition to his quarters. Potter rarely provoked arguments unless in public, and so their private life had been relatively quiet. Snape had found being civil to the brat incredibly difficult, but the liberties he took in public had made things easier. He found, irrationally, that even if Potter had done nothing wrong, he wanted to provoke the boy; anger him. A passionate Harry Potter was far more interesting than a dispassionate one, and regardless of how much he disliked the boy, their arguments were one of the few pleasurable things in the man's life, at the moment. Certainly, it was a sadistic type of pleasure, but there was a certain amount of satisfaction in Potters continued defiance.

But sleeping next to him…that was a different matter. More often than not he lay awake, thinking of the boy next to him. He did basically _own_ him, after all. In a _Patroni-Cliens_ relationship, there was no legal restriction against rape—the _Cliens_ was considered property of the _Patroni_ in most legal matters. His logical mind, and the part of his heart that admired and respected Lily, did not in any way want to rape the boy-who-lived. He didn't even want to sleep with him, were the boy willing. But his irrational self, the self that had spent too long slumbering, the slightly sadistic, sexually aroused self…yes, that self was hard to control some nights, laying with a sleeping Potter curled against him, unconscious erection pressed into his side. It was very much like torture. Snape repaid him in part by the way he treated him in public. Regardless of whether the boy knew it, he was getting his revenge.

Today in class, when Potter had looked close to grinning, Snape had realized that he, too, was having far too much fun with their verbal volleys. And it wasn't completely sadistic, either. He enjoyed seeing Potter thinking, enjoyed the back-and-forth in nearly-intelligent banter—something he would never have admitted Potter capable of four weeks prior. He enjoyed pushing the boy, making him _think_.

As Severus Snape sat in the sitting room, contemplating the unconscious boy in his bed, he began to realize that this new relationship was not only dangerous for Harry, but for himself, as well.

* * *

><p>AN: Am I going too fast? Please Review!


	3. Chapter 3: Of the Things Not Spoken

A/N: Well, here it is, another chapter! I hope you all looove me for updating soon, cause I looove you for the 15 reviews!

* * *

><p>Chapter Three: Of the Things Not Spoken<p>

The next month was a blur. Harry's lessons with Snape strained both of them. Snape became more cruel to Harry—even in private—over the boys lack of progress, unable to hold himself back from insults and scathing comments any longer. It was all-too-frustrating to see someone who—supposedly—was to be the savior of the wizarding race floundering, unable to improve. Harry was frustrated with himself, as well, but he was more than a little angry at Snape for how the man treated him. The nights when they didn't have lessons were spent in tense silence, with Harry trying to avoid notice and Snape trying—desperately—to avoid _ordering_ the boy to do better.

The Occlumency lessons lead to a forced sharing of intimacy that neither one was ready to tolerate—Harry saw too deeply into his professors past, when he did manage to get through, and vis versa. This lead to an uneasy understanding of one-another, overshadowed by anger at the violations. The anger was always stronger. Snape seemed to treat Harry as though the things Harry saw were _his_ fault, and Harry began to treat Snape as though he expected the man to use the humiliations of his childhood against him.

Harrys spent his only free time with his friends, sitting on the edge of the lake and talking about things that didn't relate to the new and uncomfortable circumstances between himself and Snape. One day, two months into the year, Hermione brought up the idea of Harry teaching DADA to students who wished to learn.

"It's just that Umbridge is _horrible_, Harry!" she complained. Having a righteously furious Snape to compare her to made the woman seem less than irritating, to Harry, but he understood Hermione's point.

"How am I supposed to teach Defense when I can't even out-duel Snape?" He said glumly, looking out across the water and thinking about the previous night's abominable lesson. Hermione looked hesitant.

"Harry…I don't think you realize what Snape is teaching you." Harry looked at her and frowned. Ron snorted.

"Teaching Harry to hate him more, I reckon." The boy said unhelpfully, and Hermione shot him a look.

"Like that's even possible. Why did my parents—my _mum_—set me with him, of all people?" Harry asked bitterly. Hermione cleared her throat.

"You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself, Harry." He frowned at her and she glared stubbornly.

"DADA is about spells—and you know more spells, are _better_ at more spells than anyone our age. What _Snape_ is teaching you is something completely different. Dueling is about using those spells in a one-off with an enemy, and it _requires_ a certain amount of occlumency and legilimency. If you _know_ what your opponent will do before they do it, and if you can block them from knowing the same, you can win. You know all the spells, you just haven't become well-versed in dueling; that's a huge difference! Most adult wizards are poor at dueling; why do you think Voldemort doesn't have many Death Eaters who participate in direct combat, and vis versa with the Order? It's a hard skill, one you're _learning_, even if you're progressing slowly. And you're _fifteen_, Harry. You're doing better than most adults."

Harry stared at her. He had never thought of it in such terms; for some reason he instinctively felt that whatever Snape could do, he should be able to do also. He never considered that his age might have something to do with it, or that he was trying to learn something most adult wizards did not know. He also hadn't realized how occlumency and legilimency directly related to dueling; he hadn't realized it because their duels seemed to be over before they had begun—but now he realized _that was exactly why._

"Snape is expecting too much of you, I think," Hermione continued, "but it's perfectly within your capabilities to teach the rest of us the spells you know. You're good at them, and maybe teaching us will help your confidence when you study _far more advanced things_ with Snape." Ron nodded.

"Yeah mate, we all know you're the best at defense. I bet if Snape tried to teach _me_ to duel, he'd have killed me weeks ago. At least he's still trying, with you." Having said about the nicest thing he ever had about Snape, Ron looked vaguely ill, but he pressed on. "It would really help all of us, to actually learn this year. With Vol—Voldemort back, we need all the help we can get." Harry gave a small shrug.

"Alright, but I don't know where we could meet. She's banned all clubs that aren't approved, and I even caught her trying to follow me to the dungeons the other night to see if I was _really_ staying in a private room. I've started using my cloak, actually."

The news of Harry and Snapes new relationship would be catastrophic if it got out, especially since Snape had begun attending Death Eater meetings in his capacity as a spy. Harry felt strange about that—he felt uncomfortable when Snape went away, almost worried, but at the same time he felt the relief of having a space to himself for a brief amount of time. Whether it was because of worry or the enjoyment of their quarters by himself, Harry never fell asleep before Snape returned, even if Snapes return lead to his being insulted, scathingly, before the man fell into an exhausted sleep.

Harry had begun to admire what Snape did. From their persistent lessons on occlumency, Harry was beginning to realize just how hard it was for Snape to occlude so much from his former master, without occluding too much. Harry had realized sometime in the past month that he no longer doubted Snapes loyalty. The effort of occlumency alone might have convinced him, but the fact that Snape was actually trying to teach Harry, regardless of how frustrated he became, lent weight to the conclusion. Harry, at the very least, now respected certain things about his Professor.

"We'll work it out," Hermione said confidently. The conversation turned to lighter things, and the trio spent the remaining time before full sunset sitting on the bank.

When Harry returned to the quarters he shared with Snape, the man was grading papers at the desk in the corner. Having thought over the conversation with his friends throughout dinner, Harry now nervously approached the man.

"Sir?" Snape looked up to acknowledge his presence, but soon went back to grading. "Can we talk for a moment? When you have time." Harry had begun to make an effort to be extremely civil in private. Partially because of his newfound respect, but also because of his failures with their lessons. He felt ashamed, and as though he didn't have much of a right to be angry at the man who was trying so hard to teach him things he needed to know. Snape still provoked him in public, and he still found it impossible not to respond in anger, but in private he made more of an effort.

Snape waved his quill at the couch and went back to grading. Harry sat, wondering how long the man would be, trying to think of something to occupy his time. The idea became unnecessary, however, when Snape finished the paper he had been working on and rose to sit in the chair opposite the couch. The man raised his eyebrows at Harry, waiting.

"I was thinking, that since dueling relies so much on occlumency and legilimency, that maybe we could concentrate on those before we get into dueling. I'm obviously not very good at either one…"

"I hadn't noticed," Snape said derisively, and Harry cleared his throat, trying to ignore it.

"But maybe if we concentrate on occlumency first, I might have a better time with dueling." Snape closed his eyes for a moment, and Harry prepared himself for a tongue-lashing.

"Perhaps you are correct…Harry. It might have been too ambitious to start you with both things at once." The admission did not do much to ease Harrys guilt at the failures, but at least the man wasn't insulting him. Harry actually smiled gratefully.

"Thanks," he said, and meant it. "There's one more thing." Snape once again cocked an eyebrow to indicate he should continue.

"Hermione and Ron think it would be good for me to start teaching them and anyone else who wants to learn Defensive spells." Snape just stared at him. "I know I'm no good at dueling yet—obviously—but Hermione says I know more spells than she does, than anyone she knows of, and since Umbridge is such a bad teacher, they think it might be wise if _someone_ taught what we need to know. With…with the Dark Lord back, even the children might be forced to fight, or defend themselves…" He trailed off, unsure. Since when had he stopped thinking of himself as a child? Likely when the whole world was against his word that Voldemort was back, and he found himself pitted against an evil Dark Lord with a taste for Harry Potters blood, but it was still an unsettling thought.

"And why should I care, Po—Harry?" Snape asked, seeming more curious than derisive, for once.

"I guess…I guess I wanted to know what you thought," Harry said, surprising himself, "and to ask if you knew a place we could gather without drawing her attention." He added the last as an afterthought.

"Since when, Potter, do you care what I think?" Snape hadn't even tried to be informal by using his first name, he sounded dangerously close to angry.

"Since…" Harry grasped, unsure. He didn't _like_ the man, and he certainly didn't want to admit he respected him, but… "since I've come to respect you. And your knowledge." He forced the words out, finding them more difficult to say than he had thought possible. It was _true_, so why was it so hard to voice? Snape raised an eyebrow, seeming surprised, himself.

"Well, that's progress." He said snidely. Harry thought he saw amusement in those eyes, but it must have been the lighting. Harry smiled weakly.

"A journey of a thousand steps…or something. Anyway…your thoughts?" He felt muddled, like he'd approached this completely the wrong way, and had ended up giving some sort of advantage to Snape when he hadn't meant to. Snape laced his fingers across his knee and looked like he was giving the idea actual consideration. After a long moment in which Harry cursed himself for bringing it up—and what was that rubbish about a journey of a thousand steps?—the man responded.

"You are the most advanced student as far as knowledge of spells and casting goes. And if a student were to be found teaching his fellow students, the consequences would be less severe than if another member of the faculty stepped in to teach defense. I suppose it's not a bad idea, all things considered, but you must be willing to face the possible consequences. Expulsion, for example." Harry nodded, meeting the mans eyes. He felt an overwhelming sense of pride—this was the first compliment he had ever received from Snape, and for some reason it meant all the more.

"I think I've risked expulsion for far less worthy things than this, and I know you can't disagree with me there." He risked a hooked smile and Snape smirked back.

"No, I could not disagree. As to _where_…I would ask the house elves." Harry gave him a confused look.

"The house elves? Why?" Snape seemed on the edge of rolling his eyes and sighing, but he restrained himself.

"Because, idiot boy, they know the castle better than anyone. If there was a secreted place for you to meet unobserved, the house elves would know of it. I believe that one—Dobby?—is particularly fond of you. Merlin knows why…" Harry grinned, completely ignoring the insults, as they sounded more by-route than actually malicious.

"That's brilliant!" he stood to grab his cloak and find Hermione and Ron, eager to tell them of the idea (though, he wasn't sure if he would bring up where the idea had come from. He didn't really want them to know that he had been so open with Snape). Snape, this time, _did_ roll his eyes.

"Don't tell me anything further of these plans, Harry. I won't be implicated in your…rebellion." Harry nodded agreement as he headed to the door, only turning when he remembered to say thank you. He left a rather bemused Snape in his wake.

* * *

><p>With only Occlumency to now apply themselves, Harrys progress improved—marginally. The slight difference compared to months of foundering, however, put both Snape and Harry into better moods. For the first time in weeks, Harry no longer had dreams about empty corridors and an untouchable room, and Snape had even given him books on the theory of occlumency, in hopes that a better understanding would lead to better practice.<p>

Dobby had been filled with joy and eagerness to learn there was something he could do to help Harry Potter, and instantly told them of the Room of Requirement, where they began happily teaching DADA in their spare time. Hermione and Ron both had things to contribute, and even though the classes were led by Harry, it was a group effort.

Another two weeks passed in this fashion, with a diffused tension still lingering between Harry and Snape. They were still sharing the same bed, something that Snape found most disagreeable. Strangely, Harry had ceased complaining about it, had even quit pestering the headmaster about his own rooms, but Snape found the situation becoming too unbearable to continue. Thus, one evening, he paid a more insistent visit to Dumbledore.

"Ah, Severus! My boy, do come in," the headmaster greeted him jovially, leaving no room for argument as he ordered tea and followed the niceties of civil interaction. It was only when Snape had sufficiently assured the man that he—and Harry—were doing fine, thank you, that he was able to bring up his true purpose in the visit.

"Albus, the boy needs his own quarters." He said bluntly, unable to hide his own irritation in the matter. Albus put on a look of false sympathy; eyes twinkling too much for it to be sincere.

"Has he been pestering you about it, Severus?"

"No—"

"Then, what is the problem? He obviously doesn't mind." The headmaster twinkled too god-damn much, in Severus's personal opinion.

"_I_ mind, headmaster. It's not appropriate." Albus raised a finger at him, smiling broadly.

"Au contraire, mon amie! It is entirely appropriate, within the _Patroni-Cliens_ relationship. In fact, some might argue that you are being too…reserved, in this relationship. I of course, would not make that claim." Snape glowered.

"I cannot tolerate his presence in my bed, Albus!" he snapped, standing in order to pace the room.

"And why is that, Severus?" the man asked as though he was curious, as though he wasn't too wily to already know the answer.

"Raging, hormonal teenage erections pressing into ones side makes it very difficult, to sleep, Albus!" there, he'd said it, damn him. Albus pretended to look concerned.

"Why haven't you then initiated that aspect of the relationship?" Snape stopped his pacing and sputtered, looking for all the world as though Albus had said something too absurd to contend with.

"He's—Merlin, he's a _boy!_"

"Ah!" Albus's eyes lit up. "So, you care about him!" a triumphant grin split his face, this time sincere. Snape glowered.

"Get him his own room, Albus, and soon—within the next week—or you will have a very traumatized savior coming to you for sanctuary." Albus sighed, looking resigned.

"Very well, Severus. But you did vow to teach him in _all_ things, as I recall. The Will specifies you teach him all you know, and this is not excluded. I don't think Lily and James realized _quite_ how this spell would take a life of its own, but there it is nonetheless." Snape glared about the room as if waiting for the spell to take corporeal form so that he could strangle it.

"If I can put that part off until I'm _allowed_ to cease the spell, then I shall, Albus!" the headmaster shook his head.

"Very well, Severus. He will have his own room—adjacent to yours—by tonight." The other man nodded curtly and took his leave of the headmaster, forgetting in his frustration to say goodbye.

* * *

><p>"My…own room?" Harry asked, as though the concept was suddenly foreign.<p>

"Yes, Potter. I can't imagine how displeased you are to be sharing a bed with your most hated Professor, but it ends tonight. Your room is through there," he indicated a new door in his chambers, "and your things have already been moved. Now goodnight." Snape shut the door on Harry before the boy could respond.

* * *

><p>When Snape finally retired to bed, it was well past midnight and he was nearer to exhaustion than ever. Settling into his bed—<em>his<em> bed—he sighed expansively, stretching out as he had not been able to do in months. As exhausted as he was, he soon found that he was having trouble getting to sleep without the boy—damn him to hell!—breathing next to him. Sometime in the past few months he had become accustomed to sharing a bed, and now having it to himself again seemed abnormal. He sighed, rolling over. If _only_ he hadn't signed that damn Will…

He started when he heard a door open, reaching for his wand before he saw the dim shape of Potter in the adjoining doorway.

"What are you doing?" he snapped at the boy, either unwilling or unable to contemplate a reason for Harry to enter his room in the middle of the night.

"I couldn't sleep…my nightmares seem better, sleeping with…someone. Could I…?" the boy sounded hesitant, almost vulnerable. Reveling in the brief thought of what he could do with such vulnerability, Severus didn't respond for an instant.

"I'm not a nursemaid, Potter," he commented snidely. He felt suddenly like a parent who was wakened by a frightened child in the middle of the night, and he did not enjoy the comparison—particularly not when he was admiring the firm muscles of said child. It made him feel slightly ill.

"I didn't mean to imply that!" Harry's eyes looked round, likely picking up on the same analogy. "I just…I like sleeping…next to you." Either Harry had somehow gotten into his liquor stash, or he was desperate for sleep—a fully rested and awake Potter would have never admitted such a thing. It was sufficient to change his mind, however, and Snape rolled over so that half the bed was vacant.

"I'll make you some dreamless sleep tomorrow," he muttered as Harry climbed into bed next to him. There was silence for a moment.

"I'd rather be able to sleep without potions, if it's all the same. I can do that, when I'm…here." Harry said quietly. Snape sighed.

"Very well. Please try to restrain yourself from pressing against me if you can at all help it." Harry blushed furiously in the darkness, unable to articulate a response immediately.

"Why…why does it bother you?" he asked, genuinely curious, after a few moments of attempting to get his blush under control. Snape did not feel like sparing the boy embarrassment, at the moment, and nor did he feel like being subtle.

"Having a hard-on pressed into ones side makes it bloody hard for one to sleep." He growled. He heard a faint gasp from behind him and smiled to himself in satisfaction; Potter must have had no idea, he reasoned. Now, the boy would take dreamless sleep and sleep in his own damn bed.

"I…um…sorry." Harry muttered finally, obviously drowning in embarrassment. Snape realized a small part of him was reveling in the boys humiliation, and told himself to cut it out.

"It's normal." Release the boy from his misery, slightly. "But if you think I'm going to sleep next to an attractive, hormonal teenager for the next three years and not do anything about it, you know nothing about me." Then frighten him speechless—he'll never invade his space again! Harry coughed in surprise, and Snape smirked to himself, congratulating himself on a job well done. Any second now, Harry would scamper out of the bed, head back to his room, leaving Snape in peace…

But Harry didn't move, didn't even seem to be breathing. Snape resisted the urge to roll over and look at the expression on his face. He must be struck dumb and immobile with horror.

"Did you mean that?" Harry finally asked, and Snape suddenly didn't want to talk anymore. All this talking was leading to an aching erection that he wouldn't be able to satisfy until morning, at the earliest.

"Mean what?" he snapped, fed up.

"'Attractive'." Snape growled.

"Don't pretend to innocence Potter, it doesn't become you." Harry was quiet again for a while, and Snape furiously attempted to _force_ sleep.

"I guess I am innocent. I mean, I didn't exactly have time for romance…or sex." The admission shocked Snape, who was unable to come up with an intelligible response. The-boy-who-lived, a virgin? He supposed it made sense; Harry was only fifteen, after all. But with half the population of the school—boy or girl—giving him the eyes, Snape would think the boy would have at least _tried_, or been seduced, or gotten cornered, or been…interested, at the least. Suddenly the idea of being the one to shed Potter of his innocence became far too appealing.

"Potter, if you're really so innocent, then I should inform you that you're being incredibly too tempting, at the moment." Fair warning, he figured, if the boy was going to stay in his bed, then he would _come_ in his bed, he would—

"Oh," Harry seemed to have realized for the first time that Snapes previous threats were based in a very real issue. "Should—should I leave?" the bloody brat sounded so god-damn _innocent_!

"Yes." He responded tersely, expending the last iota of his self-control. He felt more than heard Harry slide out of bed, and sighed to himself with a mix of regret and relief.

_Should have just taken him—he was practically on offer!_ His darker self was becoming far too insistent, these nights. He steadily forced the voice out, trying to ignore it.

* * *

><p>When he returned from a long and disappointing shower, he found Harry sitting on the couch in the living room, fidgeting. The boy jumped up when he entered, and Snape sighed to himself. <em>Shouldn't have been so honest. How in the name of Merlin are we supposed to ignore…this?<em>

"I…I wanted to thank you. I um, only just realized what you've been doing for me. I—uh. Thanks. You're a good man. I'm sorry I didn't recognize it sooner." With his face awash in red, Harry quickly retreated from the room, leaving Snape dumbfounded.

_Good man? Ha! I nearly raped you last night, and you call me a good man. I suppose this goes to show just how fucked up your childhood was, Potter, that you'd call ME a good man. Bloody absurd._

Somewhere during the night, the two of them had reached a new level in the forced relationship, and neither was certain quite how to deal with it.

* * *

><p>AN: Review?


	4. Chapter 4: To Unleash a Mighty Roar

A/N: To those of you reading Invictus who have also started reading this; thank you for the kind words about my lack of updating on Invictus. I WILL finish it, mostly cause I pull my hair out at the stories I love that haven't been finished (In Memory I, by Beka, Cindermans Kiss, by A-spirit) and I don't want to do that to you guys. I'm glad you're enjoying the story I am choosing to write more of, at the moment, and I hope I can keep making you happy with this one for now!

* * *

><p>Chapter Four: To Unleash a Mighty Roar<p>

Harry Potter was, at the moment, as confused as he had ever been in his life. It might have been the exhaustion from the extra lessons in Occlumency—which did not exactly enable thinking after hours of mental torture—but he was relatively certain that regardless of the new lessons, he'd be completely confounded anyway.

On the one hand, it was extremely unnerving to find that Severus Snape was attracted to him. Disregarding the entirety of their hateful history, the maliciousness of their relationship, and the fact that he was _Harrys greasy old potions master_, the man practically _owned_ him. Hermione had originally looked up the Ministry edicts on the _Patroni-Cliens _relationship, and Harry was not delusional enough to think he had many legal rights under this new partnership. The fact that Snape—_it's bloody Snape! —_could basically rape him if he felt like it was all too unnerving for Harry to take the news of his attraction lightly.

On the other hand, the man had been spending the past few _months_ with Harry in his bed, not acting on said attraction. His self-control was astounding. If Harry had found himself in a similar situation, he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it. The fact that the man _hadn't_ raped him after spending so much time with Harry practically begging for it (at this, he winced. How was he supposed to know what he had been doing in his sleep?) spoke much to the mans…honor. The concept of Snape having honor was still hard for Harry to grasp, but he recognized the importance of what he had learned.

Despite all of it—the discomfort in learning all of these things, the fact that it was _Snape_, for Merlins sake, Harry was…flattered. No one had ever called him attractive, or made it obvious that they were physically restraining themselves from jumping him—_literally in his sleep! —_and he found the experience…lightening. And the fact that he was flattered, maybe almost pleased with this in some part of his mind, only lead him to more confusion.

Disregarding, if one could, that it was _Snape_, it was also a man. And while Harry had never considered an attraction to men, he suddenly couldn't stop wondering about it. Was he attracted to men? Women? Both? He hadn't lived long enough—he hadn't had enough _time_, to know. The idea made him slightly sad, knowing he'd be spending the next three years without the freedom to pursue his own relationships, regardless of who he was attracted to. But then again, had he ever really cared as much about sex and relationships _before_ all this happened? Sure, he had been nervous about a date to the Yule Ball, and had been interested in Cho Chang last year, but it seemed that the first was more for appearances sake, and the second had completely slipped his mind after he became a _Cliens_ to Snape. And he _had_ admired Snapes form.

_Don't think about that!_ He ordered himself. Regardless of how confused he was, one thing was absolutely clear; he could _not_, WOULD not, be attracted to Severus Snape. It was an impossibility, like drawing a four of a kind in poker when one was all-in with their life savings; it simply didn't—_wouldn't!_—happen.

* * *

><p>Harry Potter had begun to stare. He stared at everyone, it seemed, as though looking for something in particular. Snape, having the advantage of a direct link to the boys mind, knew after just a few instances that Harry was staring at people in order to discern what—or who—he was attracted to. The knowledge had an unexpected effect on the man; jealousy. Any time he caught a flicker of appreciation in the boys eyes when he stared at someone else, he grew jealous. And it wasn't like the boy ever stared at him, after all. The actions of his <em>Cliens<em>, coupled with his own jealousy, made the man furious—both with himself and the boy.

_Why does he have to STARE all the bloody time?_ He asked himself. _Why do you care, Severus?_ He'd respond, cursing himself for caring even a small amount. If Harry Potter wanted to stare at people, far be it for him to complain. He might own the boy, but it didn't mean he _liked_ him, after all. Just found his youthful physique and innocence slightly irresistible. _Slightly_, he reminded himself.

Potter hadn't slept in the same bed as him since that night, two weeks ago, but nor had he requested dreamless sleep, and Severus hadn't offered it again, assuming the boy would ask if he really needed it. The potion was quite potent and could become addicting, after all. He was near to forcing the potion on the boy regardless, however, because no matter the lack of his actual _presence_, the moans that could sometimes be heard through the adjoining door drove him mad just the same. Likely they were moans of fear from his nightmares, but there wasn't a discernable difference when one was lying awake some nights, struggling with the part of himself that wanted to traverse the small amount of space between their beds and make Harry Potter _scream_ his name—

These thoughts were not conductive to thinking during class time, he decided. He swept his eyes across the room, and caught Harry staring at _him_. Startled, they locked gazes for a moment before Harry quickly broke eye contact and looked elsewhere.

Why was the brat looking at him? He obviously hadn't been harsh enough with the boy, if he felt confident enough to blatantly stare. (He conveniently forgot what Harrys staring had recently begun to betoken, as obviously the same reasons could apply to him—the hated potions professor.)

* * *

><p>Harry Potter was miserable. He had begun staring at people, trying to decide what he found attractive. After weeks of this endeavor he had come to the uneasy conclusion that males, by far, were more attractive than females. Just to be thorough—and to prove to himself that he was not, in fact, attracted to Snape—he'd stared at Snape a few times too, carefully timing those stares to a point where the Potions Professor wouldn't notice them.<p>

The entire endeavor had been a failure, although he was still coming up with excuses. Snape _was_ attractive. It wasn't so much his body—Harry knew it was attractive from sleeping next to the man, but it wasn't evident in class—it was his…intensity. His eyes, and his hair. Even his hands. The man was damn _graceful_, but in a masculine way. And these realizations—unlike drawing a four of a kind in a poker game—made him miserable. How was he supposed to deal with this? It was _Snape_, for christs sake! Even if he did find the man attractive—he shuddered—it didn't mean he _liked_ him.

_Then why are you worried when he goes off to Death Eater meetings?_ An annoying mental voice asked, and he responded as he always did. _Because he's a part of the resistance, we need his information! And I can agree there's much to respect in him, enough to respect that his death would be upsetting. It doesn't mean I LIKE the bastard!_ The voice was becoming less and less appeased with his explanations.

Harry had begun avoiding his friends, not wanting them to realize the cause of his misery. One day, almost near Christmas now, Ron caught up to him in the library and cornered him.

"Hermione thinks you're mad at us," the other boy stated bluntly. He continued on, drowning out Harrys protests, "I think it's something different. You're acting like you like someone and you can't be with them. Spit it out." Well, at least Ron could always be counted on to be blunt. Harry shook his head, not sure whether he was denying liking someone, or refusing to tell Ron who. To be fair, he didn't _like_ Snape. He was just finding the man increasingly attractive. Ron frowned. "Whats the deal, mate? You know you can tell 'mione and me anything." Harry gave his best friend a miserable look.

"Ron, what if I liked blokes?" The read-head gave Harry a look that seemed to say _is that all?_ Before shrugging one shoulder.

"Do you like _me?_" Harry looked horrified.

"NO!"

"Then I don't see what the problem is, Harry. Is that whats got your knickers in a twist?" Harry hesitated, then nodded.

"I know muggles have some odd ideas about it, but wizards don't really discriminate. I mean, look at centaurs. When you have people buggering horses, men liking men or women liking women tends to seem normal by comparison." Harry gave his friend a startled look, then burst into laughter. Ron smiled and clapped Harry on the back.

"Alright then? Going to mope around some more before I have to remind you about harpies?" Harry couldn't quit his fits of laughter. It was partially in relief—Ron was right, with people buggering birds, other men seems funny to worry about—but also partially because he had missed his friends, missed how Ron made him laugh. He nodded at Rons question.

"But…what if I was attracted to someone I shouldn't be?" Harry asked when he could breathe again, becoming serious once again. Ron gave him a scrutinizing look.

"Like Snape?" the other boy asked, and Harry gulped before nodding slowly. Ron grimaced. "Why do you think I was so upset about this _Patroni_ thing? I don't know how the Greeks did it—ask Hermione—but with wizards, is practically unheard of for these type of partnerships to _not_ include sex—or sexual attraction. I've never _seen_ a relationship like this, but I've heard of it. The Purebloods are notorious for 'apprenticing' their children to older members of different houses. I wouldn't be surprised if Malfoy was a _Cliens_ to someone. The relationship is just too damn close—and weird—for there _not_ to be a sexual aspect." Harry looked shocked, then thoughtful.

"So it's the spell then?" he asked hopefully, and Ron hesitated before shaking his head.

"The spell enhances emotions, it doesn't create them. You'd have to feel some sort of attraction to him on your own originally, or it wouldn't work." Harry looked dejected, and Ron thumped him on the back.

"C'mon, Harry! I was worried about Snape taking advantage of this whole thing at first, but Hermiones right—he's being honorable about it, as far as his bastard nature lets him. He hasn't buggered you, has he?"

"NO!" Harry sat straight up, looking horrified.

"Well, there you go! So you have a man—someone you're attracted to—who also wants to bugger your brains out, who's responsible for protecting you and teaching you some wicked stuff. Whats the problem?"

"It's _Snape!"_ Harry groaned. He hadn't expected Ron to be so inclusive, but he supposed this was one of those instances where his friend accepted the strangest of things simply because he had grown up knowing about them. It was another wizard-vs-muggle raised difference between them. Ron made a face.

"Yeah mate, sorry about that. But he's being honorable about this, and you're attracted to him, right?" Harry nodded. "So, whats the problem again?"

"Snape, you know, our hateful potions professor?" Harry was about to give up trying when Ron looked confused.

"But…he's your Patroni. Doesn't that part kind of matter more?" Harry shook his head, not sure what he meant by the motion. _Did_ it matter more? He supposed it did—he was long past thinking of Snape as his professor first, and Patroni second. Now, professor came almost as an afterthought. Shaking himself out of these thoughts completely, he stood.

"Come on, lets go find Hermione and tell her I'm not mad." Ron, looking relieved, nodded agreement.

* * *

><p>When Harry returned to their shared quarters, Snape was grading papers at the desk and a fire was going in the hearth. This close to Christmas, the Dungeons were cold at night and Harry was glad for the warmth as he laid out his homework on the coffee table, intending to get most of it done before the winter hols—one week away!—so he could spend the time doing more interesting things. He snuck glances at his professor while he worked, allowing himself to watch the graceful movements of the man's hands. After what Ron had said, he felt immensely better, and felt a bit more comfortable allowing himself to look. He thought he was being subtle about it when Snape interrupted him without looking up.<p>

"Potter, your stares are becoming distracting." The man muttered. Harry blushed.

"Sorry," he said, not intending to explain as he went back to his homework. But Snape had set aside his quill and was now looking at him, apparently intending to continue the conversation.

"I understand you're confused, and have been staring at _everyone_ trying to decide what attracts you, but using me as a comparison is unsettling." Harry looked up from his work with a confused look on his face.

"Sorry, er—comparison?" Snape glared.

"What you're _not_ attracted to, Potter." The man clarified. Harry coughed and looked down.

"Oh, er. Right. Well that's…not exactly, um. Accurate." Did he just say that? He felt embarrassed enough to melt into the floor, and he refused to look up—certain he'd see some kind of sadistic glee on the older mans face. After a long pause, Snape spoke again.

"Don't tempt me, Potter." His voice was low and dangerous, and it sent an unexpected thrill through Harry, who seemed to have a sudden—and quite uncomfortable—hardness between his legs.

"I didn't mean to," he muttered, still not looking up and shifting uncomfortably in his seated position on the floor. Now that they were having this conversation—_were they really having this conversation!_—Harry felt determined to continue it. "I mean, it's not that you _like_ me. You just want to…uhm. Well, you don't actually like _me,_ I mean." He didn't exactly like the man, either, but at least he respected and admired him in some things—in most things, when he was being honest. And maybe if Snape wasn't such a prick all the time, he could actually like him. Eventually. It wasn't too far out of the realm of possibility. But Snape _hated_ him, and he always would—it was one constant that Harry suddenly realized he didn't much like.

"I don't _hate_ you, Potter." Harry looked up, finally, shocked. Snape had a baleful glare on him, as if daring Harry to tell anyone.

"But—"

"I find you _irritating_, I occasionally _resent_ you, I sometimes feel as though the world is conspiring to torture me with you, but I don't _hate_ you. Maybe I did once, but three months in forced partial confinement with you had caused me to alter my opinion somewhat." Harry stared at him, speechless. The man wasn't saying he liked Harry, of course, but this was perhaps as close to an admission of being _capable_ of liking Harry as the man would come.

"I—uh. Thanks." Harry wasn't exactly eloquent, but he got his point across. Snape nodded curtly and went back to his grading. Harry turned back to his work—rather unsettled—and Snape growled once again without looking up.

"Next time you stare at me, Potter, I will consider it an invitation." Harry blushed. He was grateful—incredibly—that Snape was considerate enough to realize that Harry might not be aware of what he was doing within the context of foreplay, and was being kind enough to tell him when he was doing something that could be taken as a come-on, giving _Harry_ the power to decide what he wanted. Even though he didn't know much about normal relationships, Harry knew that he probably wouldn't have received such consideration with anyone else.

* * *

><p>Snape slept fitfully that night, dozing in and out of consciousness as his inner voices raged.<p>

_THIS time, he really was begging for it!_

_He doesn't know what he's doing,_ he argued. The argument seemed feeble in the midst of sweat-tossed sheets in the middle of the night. He started, once again, when the adjoining door opened.

_Go away, Potter, just go away. I don't want to bloody DEAL with this—with you!—tonight. _

"S…Severus?" Harry tried out the name, feeling odd. It didn't feel _wrong_ on his lips, exactly. Just…new. Different. The name—and the voice; tentative, uncertain—sent an unexpected thrill through Snape. The man propped himself on an elbow to show he was awake, not answering the boy. He stared at the figure in the doorway, the light from the hearth in the sitting room just barely shedding enough to illuminate the mussed hair, tanned skin, firm muscles…

"I…want to sleep, here." Snape sucked in a breath, more shocked than anything. He had made it perfectly clear what sleeping in his bed would entail, but even so he found himself speaking.

"You had better be certain, Potter," he growled, not in the mood to be nice about it. A very large part of him didn't even want to wait for the partly confirmation.

"I am." The boys voice was unsteady, but certain. He moved forward and slid into bed, seeming very confused about what to do with himself.

Snape didn't need more than that. He moved forwards, pinning the boy down with his own body and aligning them, thigh to chest, skin-to-skin, as he had been wanting to do for quite some time. The delectable gasp from Harry encouraged him further, and he quickly dipped his head to crush those lips to his own. Harry groaned lightly, hands coming to touch the man's side. He wasn't sure what he should do with his hands, but he wanted to touch Snape, to feel that pale skin under his fingers. His explorations were rewarded by a growl and a sudden mouth on his neck, making him groan more loudly as he bucked his hips, unable to stop himself.

Snapes hands trailed over him as his mouth explored Harrys throat, and Harry felt that whatever it was he was doing with his hands wasn't nearly as arousing as what Snape was doing to him. When those hands brushed his straining erection, Harrys fingertips dug into the man's hips as he tried not to thrust into the touch. He whimpered, knowing that with so much touching, so quickly, he would not be able to hold out long—and gods he _wanted_ to.

The _sounds_ Harry was making were incredible. Snape could hardly keep himself from flipping him over and pounding him raw as the boy whimpered and clutched at him. But he did resist, finding other things to explore; the soft skin of Harry's neck, for example. Harrys erection pressed into his leg as he explored the supple body with hands and mouth, and Snape had to be careful of touching him there—no matter how sorely he wanted to. If he remembered correctly, the boy would be close to coming already—no doubt he had _ever_ been touched like this, and was unaccustomed to holding out under so much sensory stimulation.

The thought that he was the first to touch the boy like this send a thrill through him, and he groaned at the thought of taking him, marking him, making Harry _his_. Unwilling to take him unprepared, and knowing Harry would come soon, he finally allowed himself to touch the leaking length between the boys legs.

Harry gasped and arched upwards as Snape touched him—finally!—his hands expertly sliding and pumping up and down. The man didn't quit touching him elsewhere, didn't cease biting and kissing the skin of his neck, mouth, and shoulders, and all too soon Harry found himself coming in a burst of what must have been the greatest orgasm of his life.

When his vision straightened, he saw that Snape held his own sizable erection and was getting himself off to the image of Harry, in _his_ bed, panting, gasping, lips swollen, bright red marks marring his skin, and a great deal of his own come covering his thighs and stomach.

Harry looked simply _edible_, this way. Snape moaned as he touched himself, eyes never leaving the boy laying, unmoving in his bed. Harry was watching him, too. The look of sheer…_hunger_ on the boy's face was eventually what caused him to come, panting, before collapsing back on the bed.

He muttered a wandless cleaning spell and Harry instinctively touched his now-clean stomach, seeming surprised.

"I…wow." Harry said, more at a loss for words than normal—which wasn't saying much. Snape snorted.

"You are in _so_ much trouble, Potter." He grumbled, putting his hands behind his head. For all he grumbled, he was intensely satisfied at having finally gotten what he had wanted—even if not as completely as he had wanted it.

"..Why?" That boy was too damn innocent by half.

"You think this ends here?" Snape asked threateningly, moving to loom over the boy with an elbow propping him up. "There are _so_ many more things to teach you." He couldn't help running a hand along Harrys chest as he said this, allowing himself to contemplate all the many things he would do to the boy.

Harry shivered at the touch and voice, biting his lip.

"Well, I did cite a lack of knowledge as my explanation of failure," Harry eventually said, which actually got a bark of laughter from the other man.

"Indeed you did." Snape didn't bother to resist the next impulse; he hooked an arm around Harry and drew him closer, so the boy was curled against his body—this time consciously.

All too soon, they were both asleep.

* * *

><p>Harry woke to an empty bed, feeling a little cheated. Sleeping in Snapes arms had been so <em>nice<em>, something he never would have imagined even a month ago. When he stumbled into the living room, Snape was fully dressed and grading papers once again, even though it was a Saturday.

"You should spend your holiday with the Weasleys and Miss Granger, mister Potter. They've already invited you." Harry sensed a drastic shift from the night before, and made to protest.

"But—"

"I _order you_ to spend the holidays with your friends unless extenuating circumstances prevents it." The tone brooked no argument, and Harry glared at the man—who wasn't even looking at him! Feeling abandoned and angry, he grabbed his things and left to find his friends.

* * *

><p>AN: review?


	5. Chapter 5: The Paths Which Cross

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to get this out, you amazing loyal readers you! I've been pretty busy—two jobs and school leave very little time for, well, anything—and I have a great deal of hobbies so it's hard to portion out what I will do with my scant amount of free time. Here it is though, the next chapter in this story, coming to you directly from the snow-swept mountains of Colorado. And if you review, I'll write more chapters and I won't immediately abandon the story again in pursuit of a different pastime.

* * *

><p>Chapter Five: The Paths that Cross Lead Separate Ways<p>

Harry Potter was a teenager. In public, he might be the sole hope of the wizarding world, the charming, intelligent bachelor, and the one person who made the Daily Prophet every single week—but in private, he was merely a boy, and he was never more aware of that as he was now. He was sitting in Ron's room at the Burrow, kicking his trunk half-heartedly from the bed, his mind and emotions in a state of turmoil that he had never before encountered. Ron and Hermione sat opposite of him, both looking concerned and occasionally offering some attempts at consolation.

"I just can't believe that he just…kicked me out!" Harry fumed for the fiftieth time, the words having lost their original anger by this point.

"Maybe he just wanted to give you some time to think about what happened." Ron offered feebly, although _his_ anger had been stronger than Harrys when Hermione had set upon the other boy and forced the story out of him. Hermione shook her head.

"I _really_ do think that Snape finds the whole situation more disturbing than you do, and really isn't sure how to handle it, either." The girl repeated for the tenth time.

"Well he didn't need to _kick me out!_" Harry insisted. Hermione frowned at him.

"Snape isn't exactly a socialite, Harry! He's spent the better part of his life as a pariah, anathema. I doubt he's ever encountered a situation like this in his life—he probably has no idea how to deal with it!"

"I'm sorry Hermione, but there's only one way to deal with an attractive naked person in your bed," Ron said, laughing. Harry's mood seemed to grow darker, and Hermione sensed that the other boy was once again doubting his attractiveness.

"Oh really, Ronald?" Hermione asked archly, raising her brows.

"Well—yeah?" Ron seemed to sense a trap and a look of dread crossed his face as he waited for Hermione to respond.

"Let's say we were dating—"

"But we're not!" Ron squeaked, looking utterly overwhelmed by the notion. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"_Say_ that we were, Ronald! Say we're dating, and you get back to your dorm one night and there is a _random naked woman _in your bed? Is there's _still_ just one way to deal with that?" Ron was pale and nervous now, and the look of shock and confusion on his face had Harry half-convinced that the other boy really _had_ found an attractive naked woman in his bed while dating Hermione.

"I—" Hermione glared at him, as though the entire proposed situation was entirely true and she was waiting to hear his explanation of the naked woman. Harry began to laugh softly, trying to contain his mirth.

"Answer carefully, Ron, or we might never date at all!" This news seemed to make Ron grown whiter, if it was possible, and he cleared his throat in an attempt to get his nerves under control.

"Well, when you say 'random', do you mean the timing is random, or the girl is random?" Hermione's face turned from righteously angry to uncertainly angry in a second, and she answered hesitantly, as though not sure if the situation had suddenly turned around on her.

"The timing…" she said, and then her eyes widened; suddenly they were both talking at once.

"—Well then, if the _timing_ was random, and I'm dating you, I can only assume that the naked woman in my bed _is_ you, in which case I would gladly join you—"

"—I meant the girl, the _girl_ is random!—" Hermione shouted, nearly drowning out what Ron was saying.

"—In the case of the _girl_ being random, I'd have to go find you, so you could hex her for me and tell her to get out of my bed. I've always wanted to see a cat fight—" Ron finished, grinning.

"I—"Hermione began, but stopped, staring at Ron in utter shock. Ron just continued to grin, looking far too satisfied for his own good.

"Not to interject, but did _Ron_ just trick you, Hermione?" Harry asked quietly, barely containing his glee and laughter as he watched a shell-shocked Hermione staring at a very pleased Ron.

"Does this mean we can date, then?" Ron asked, ignoring Harry.

"I—" Hermione still didn't seem capable of speech, so Ron kept talking.

"I answered as carefully as I know how, so that must mean we're dating now. I'm pretty sure I had the right answer, although that was a tricky question, Hermione. You shouldn't use the word 'random' quite so carelessly. I'm not a very witty guy; you might have really confused me by throwing 'random' in there. In fact, you might have confused me so much that I answered incorrectly. One would think you didn't really _want_ to date at all, being so tricky about it, and everything." Harry couldn't contain himself, and he fell over on the bed laughing. Luckily he was still able to catch what happened next, as Hermione effectively prevented Ron from talking more and reached up to kiss him.  
>When they finally broke apart, Harry had stopped laughing and was beginning to wonder if he should leave. His two friends were looking <em>very<em> satisfied with themselves, although Hermione still looked slightly embarrassed to have been tricked by Ron.

"I'm nearly certain that Ron tricking _you_, Hermione, was about the best way for you two to get together, ever." Harry said. His gloom over Snape had lifted a bit to see his two friends so utterly happy together, finally, and the method in which it came about had been all too funny to him. Hermione blushed.

"It really was very good, wasn't it?" She said. Despite her obvious embarrassment, she seemed quite proud of Ron, who was certainly very proud of himself.

"Thought of it on the spot too, I was just making things up as I went. I reckon Hermione has taught me to be a _bit_ more witty." Ron was grinning again, and Harry couldn't help but grin back at him. Hermione cleared her throat. She didn't want to get too far off-topic, no matter what had just happened, and so returned to the original subject.

"Harry, do you want my advice?" she asked, seeming utterly willing to allow him to say 'no', which was odd of her.

"Sure…" he said hesitantly, the mirth of the previous moments suddenly forgotten.

"Wait. Calm down, and wait. Keep in mind that you have three more years of a forced partnership here, and that is a very long time. Remember that Snape is human and might be working through his own issues when it comes to this sudden change in your relationship. As much as you practice occlumency together, you really don't _know_ each other, and there might be things in his past that affect the way he handles relationships, now. Wait, Harry, and _think_."

"Think?" Hermione was making a great deal of sense, regardless of how little he liked it.

"Think about what _you_ want out of this. Can you imagine carrying on a _fling_ during the next three years because you don't _want_ more, emotionally? The relationship you are _forced_ to be in with Snape makes 'just sex' impossible. This can't _be_ casual. So what do you _want _it to be?" Harry was looking at her with wide eyes.

"I…I don't know. I guess I didn't consider that it couldn't be…casual."

"Well, it _can't_, not with the Patroni-Cliens relationship. Do you want an emotional connection, too? Do you _have_ an emotional connection? If you don't, what in the hell are you doing, trying to have a sexual one without an emotional one in a relationship that you _can't escape_ for the next three years, at least?"

"I…didn't think about it like that." Harry said, dumbfounded.

"Then that's my advice. Wait, and think, and maybe try to get to know Snape better, so you can figure out what it is you want from him…and what he wants from you."

"Er…right. Thanks, Hermione." Harry sighed and looked at her gratefully, smiling in a way that seemed to say '_what was I thinking?_'. Hermione nodded as though the subject was closed, then looked at Ron.

"Uhh…right, I'll just leave then," Harry said, grinning at them. He ignored their protests and invitations to stay, closing the door behind him and leaving his two friends to be alone.

* * *

><p>Returning to Hogwarts after the Christmas Holidays was stranger than it had ever been. Harry followed the normal routine—arrival, stowing his things in his 'private room', going to the great hall for dinner—but throughout the entire thing he felt incredibly nervous. Dinner was the worst; seeing Snape sitting at the head table and refusing to look at him bothered him so suddenly and violently that he had to leave early. It was a normal thing; Snape couldn't be seen to show any undue interest in Harry, after all. But still, after his last night at Hogwarts, he felt as though something should have…well, <em>changed<em>. He knew it was absurd, that at least in public the two of them had to remain relatively uncivil or downright mean towards each other, but that didn't stop him from feeling as though he was being slighted.  
>He spent several hours lingering with Ron and Hermione in the Room of Requirement, eating the food he had missed in the great hall and talking about anything but the mounting tension between himself and Snape. Finally, near two in the morning, Hermione apologetically informed him that it was time to leave.<p>

"I know you don't really want to face the situation waiting for you…especially since you don't know what's waiting, but we all need to go to sleep if we want to do _anything_ productive in class tomorrow." She gave Harry a sympathetic look, and Ron rolled his eyes, but stood up off the couch.

"Yeah mate, I'd stay but—you know—girlfriends." Ron ducked as Hermione went to hit him, and Harry smiled.

"I know Ron, it's alright. I'm going to stay a little longer, but I'll see you two tomorrow." They said their goodbyes and Harry leaned back against the wall, thinking. First he imagined the type of place he'd like to be in, and when he opened his eyes, the room had made the necessary adjustments. Pillows and rugs and blankets littered the floor, now comfortable enough to sleep on if he chose. But the major difference was the outside wall—it had completely disappeared, leaving a wide empty space, a ledge, and seven hundred feet of air between the ledge and the ground. Harry squirmed over to the ledge, carrying one of the pillows with him and propping himself up in the corner and stretching his legs out along the edge. He looked out across the lake, forcing himself to think about what exactly might be waiting for him back in Snapes quarters as the cold, still air kissed his face.

He'd spent a large amount of time at the Burrow trying hard _not_ to think about it, putting it off and continuously promising himself to think about it another day. Well, this was another day—an early morning—and Hermione's advice made too much sense to safely ignore, and so the boy sat, and thought.

* * *

><p>Harry Bloody Potter stumbled through his door at exactly four am, and for a moment Snape suspected he'd been drinking. The boys cheeks were rosy red with either cold or liquor, and the glassy-eyed look he seemed to have could be a result of either too little sleep, or drinking. Perhaps it was both.<p>

"Hi," Harry said, smiling slightly and shrugging out of his coat and scarf.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Snape asked, trying to keep the seething anger from his voice, and failing. Harrys guard came up, and he glared defiantly at the other man.

"Coming _home_, going to _bed_, why?"

"Mr. Potter, it is past four am, you are incredibly _late_, as I expected you after the feast. Care to explain yourself?" Harry crossed his arms.

"I'm not late; you never _ordered_ me to be back for a certain time. In fact, last time you ordered me to do anything, you were ordering me to _leave_ after—" He cut off, realizing just how dangerous Snape looked, and hurried on before his _Patroni_ could order him to do anything else. "—look, I was just thinking, and flying a bit, and I lost track of time. I didn't mean to worry you or anything. I was thinking about…this…" he waved a hand to indicate the space between the two of them, vaguely suggesting some form of relationship. "And I decided I really have no idea what I think. Herm—I know we can't have a…casual kind of relationship if we're both stuck in this spell, and…I don't really know how I _feel_, and I don't really…what I'm saying is, I don't know the answer yet, okay? And I know you didn't ask a question but there's a question in the offing nonetheless and I don't know the answer so I'd like a little time to figure that out, okay?" Snape was staring at him now in utter disbelief.

"Potter, are you _drunk_?" the man asked, and Harry shook his head laughing.

"No, but I probably sound like it, huh? I'm just tired. I'm going to bed." Snape put an arm out to stop him as Harry tried to walk by, and the young man looked up with slight irritation.

"Did you say _Hermione_, Potter?" Snape asked softly, and Harry gulped, his face turning a brighter red as he tried to think.

"Well, Hermione might have pointed out that this relationship, whatever it is, _can't_ simply be casual, because of the spell, and stuff. And she said I needed to think about what I really wanted out of it, and that I should be patient, and think, and—yeah." Snape raised his eyebrows.

"And what else did Miss. Granger have to say on the subject?" Harry couldn't hold the man's gaze anymore, and so his response was directed largely at his shoes.

"She said that I should get to know you better if I want to figure out how I feel about you…and this situation, and that I should also remember that this isn't all about me, and to consider your thoughts and feelings, too, and to keep them in mind when I consider my actions—and that I _should_ more carefully consider my actions." Snape didn't respond for a full minute, but when he did, he moved aside to allow Harry to pass and sat on the couch. Harry thought he saw a smirk on the other man's face, but he wasn't sure.

"Well, at least you have one friend capable of giving you good council." Harry sighed in relief, sending a tired smile towards the man on the couch.

"It's not like I didn't think about it at _all_, I just don't _know_, so…" Harry shrugged helplessly. Snape nodded and picked up a book, indicating that the conversation was over. Harry returned to his room, hoping that the previous rules about where he slept were still in place.

* * *

><p>Time passed with an uneasy truce between the two. Harry tried to figure out how he felt and thought, and gave more effort into getting to know Snape, which proved abominably difficult. The other man wasn't exactly forthcoming, or friendly, or very talkative, after all. There were some things Harry began to notice though, like how the other man always had a glass of scotch in the evening, or how he never seemed to eat breakfast. Snape would always bathe after returning from Death Eater meetings, and when he went to tea with the Headmaster he always seemed to be in a lighter mood, regardless of the fact that he never seemed to want to go in the first place. Snape had a lot of correspondence, too—he was always receiving and sending mail. When he wasn't grading papers he was usually reading, but he also worked on potions and took off to who-knows-where at a moment's notice.<p>

Harry had never thought about his professors having lives outside of Hogwarts, though of course they didn't spend every second of their lives as teachers. One day he was sitting on the couch, attempting to do his homework but really just contemplating the life Snape might lead, when he was struck by a thought.

"Where do you live?" He asked the man sitting at the desk.

"Excuse me, Potter?" Snape asked irritably. He hated to be interrupted; that was another thing to put on the list of 'Things Harry Potter Knows About Severus Snape'.

"I was just thinking; professors don't live here all the time, surely. Where do _you_ live?" Snape frowned at him, and Harry had to remind himself to put 'doesn't like questions about his past, family, or general whereabouts' on the list as well. 'Where did you go?' was also a question that would earn him a frown or tongue lashing. Snape seemed to come to a decision on whether to answer or not while Harry was making mental notes.

"My family has a Manor, but it's been abandoned since the last of them died off. I live here, since there are so many people who would like to see me dead." Harry was surprised that Snape had answered him with so much civility, since in hindsight his question was so very insensitive.

"Well, anyone who wants you dead is either stupid, or someone who should die, themselves." Harry said, shrugging and going back to his work. "Maybe you can reopen Snape Manor when the war is over; war seems to be a very effective way of getting rid of stupid people." Snapes snort sounded almost surprised, and Harry mentally patted himself on the back; he loved making Snape laugh. It was like making a possum smile-incredibly difficult, but worth the effort.

"And what makes you think that the people who want me dead are by any means stupid, or should die themselves?" Snape asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"Well, you're a good man, but you come off as a bad one, so the stupid people are the ones who judge by something other than deeds. The ones who should die themselves are the ones against our cause, which in general makes them bad people."

"How…simplistic." Snape said, uncertain as to whether he should take this as a compliment.

"I know, I know, there's shades of grey and good people fighting for the wrong side and all that, but to specifically want you dead? That makes them stupid, or bad."

"And all the families of the people I've killed?" The man asked, dangerously quietly. Harry looked up and met the black eyes of his professor, suddenly very certain of his answer.

"Stupid might be a harsh term, for them. But they're still wrong. The deaths you've caused have been in a pursuit of a greater good—they should blame the man who caused this war, not the man fighting to stop it." Snape looked nearly surprised, but he pressed forward, looking at Harry as though he was trying to see the boy's soul.

"And those I killed or hurt before I switched sides, Potter? Those I _raped_, _tortured, slaughtered?"_ Harrys shoulders flinched backwards, but not his eyes. He had thought about this very thing recently, when Snape went to the most recent Death Eater meeting and Harry sat around wondering just who it was he was living with. The conclusions he had come to were harsh, but fair, he hoped.

"That was wrong. You know that, I know that. Those things can never truly be forgiven or forgotten. But I see how hard you work, every day. How hard you are on yourself, how hard you try to be good—and you try _so_ hard. I see your streak of honor a mile wide, and how hard you try to teach _me_, regardless of how slow my progress is or how frustrated you become. You've done bad things, but to me that does not make you a bad man. And it would still be wrong for someone to kill you over the things you've done. It's wrong to kill, in general, and you're different now, you've changed, and you work every day to pay something back, to balance out the bad things you've done with good. Snape was staring at him, but Harry didn't break eye contact because he felt that what he had to say was momentously important. He took a big breath, and continued.

"I still say, blame the man who begun this war, blame the man who put that mark on you, blame the man who used, misled, and manipulated _children_ into thinking they were doing what was right. Blame the man who had those children so convinced of it that by the time they started to question what they were doing, they were too deep into things to stop very easily. Blame the men who enjoy death and killing, those who thirst for power and dominance, those who thrive on cruelty and manipulation."

Snape stared at him for a moment before returning to his work without another word. Harry was relieved to let the subject drop; he had only recently come upon these conclusions and it made him horribly uncomfortable to reassure someone who did not want or need reassurance. All the same, he felt better for having expressed his thoughts on the matter, and rather proud of himself for how eloquent he sounded. The rest of the evening was spent in silence, but for once it wasn't completely uncomfortable.

* * *

><p>Harry spent most of the next few months studying. Occlumency with Snape gradually evolved into Dueling as he began to progress more, and OWLs were coming up—for some reason, Harry felt that Snape would be disappointed if he got anything less than an O in all of his subjects, so he began to study nearly as much as Hermione. He was flying again, as well. Throughout the year, Harry had begun to use the provocative and usually infuriating comments of Delores Umbridge to hone his occlumency.<p>

Whenever she enraged him, he concentrated on controlling his emotions and not speaking, not moving, not giving any hint of anger. In truth it was a tactic that Snape had suggested, and it was especially hard to control himself when she began to wonder aloud if the great Harry Potter was a coward, but he soon began to pride himself in his self-control, even if it did not equal that of Snape.

As a result, the horrible woman had no pretext to give him detention or withhold the right of their quidditch team, and Harry and his friends were soon flying again. Neville, however, was not so lucky. In first year the other boy had shown his capability to stand up for what he thought was right; in fifth year, he paid for it. Time after time, Harry, Hermione and Ron would make Neville a soothing unguent for his hand, and the four of them would sit around and rant about how horrible Umbridge was.

Amidst the studying and secret DADA meetings, Harry spent his time flying, talking with his friends, and—oddly—sitting in the living room with Snape, occasionally talking about one thing or another. The months flew by in this manner, until—out of the blue—the OWLs arrived.

* * *

><p>AN: So, a relatively filler-type chapter, I know. I needed to give harry the 'time' he claims to need, before I start with, well, you know. Sexual tension, an actual plot line, some serious business. He DOES need time to mature a bit, after all. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it. I'm going to pop over to Invictus and see if it hooks me into writing more.


	6. Chapter 6: In the Heat of the Fire

A/N: Alright, so Invictus didn't thrill me with an aching need to go on with it (don't worry, in time, it will) but I did feel like writing more of this one; I hope that's okay!

Here's a question for all of you; I tend to incorporate music/lyrics into my fanfictions because I feel that it adds more depth and meaning. I haven't done it yet with this one, however. So the question is; shall I? I've got a few inspiring songs in my head that will likely lead me to writing some very awesome scenes, but do I put those lyrics in there? Those of you who've read some of my other stuff; do the lyrics detract from the scene as a whole, or add to it? That is my question for you, readers. Much love!

* * *

><p>Chapter Six: In the Heat of the Fire<p>

Tension was mounting in the quarters of Severus Snape. Harrys studying for the OWLs was frantic, and casting a hurried light on all his evenings spent in the living room, pouring over notes and chapters and bespelled objects. If Harry's studying frenzy had been the only source of tension, the two men might have borne it better. However, Snape had been called to mounting numerous Death Eater meetings of late, which had both of them on edge. Snape was tired and worn after each meeting, making him even more sardonic and cruel than usual, and Harry suspected he was withstanding numerous crutiatus curses simply from the way the man moved. Harry was growing increasingly worried after each new meeting; not only did it indicate that something huge was afoot, but after frequent glimpses of the meetings in their occlumency lessons Harrys understanding of how dangerous it was to attend had grown exponentially.

The sexual tension was not much better. Harry attempted not to say or do anything that might be taken as an invitation, but he had never needed to concentrate on such a thing before and he inevitably made slip ups. One day after dinner, the two were attempting to relax in the living room over a game of chess—which Harry had proposed after complaining that Ron always beat him. Harry didn't really remember what he had said, but suddenly Snapes hand was around his wrist and the other man was staring into his eyes intensely. Harry froze, unable to define the fire that seemed to be radiating from his wrists in waves, but utterly unable to draw away. Soon, Snape pulled himself away, but the man's look and actions had been clear.

_Don't temp me, Potter_. Harry remembered it perfectly; it had been months ago, when he was only just realizing that Snape found him attractive, and that he returned the admiration. The looks and physical signals Snape gave him now were no different, and each time they sent a shiver of anticipation through Harry—a wave of memory of _that night_. It was times like this that Harry found it hard to concentrate on what he might want in the long run—when his entire being was so focused on what he wanted _now—_but Snape, thankfully, did not make a move towards him and all Harry had to do was hold back. This, in retrospect, was quite easy to do when one was a nervous nearly-virginal teenager.

On this night, however, their chess game came to an abrupt end when Snape clutched his arm, snatched up his cloak, and left without a word. Harry had seen too many nights like this to be ignorant of what was going on, and so he set about attempting to distract himself.

Studying didn't work; he felt as though he knew the dictionary-definition for every word he had ever read in his history at Hogwarts. His friends were asleep; Hermione had forced Ron and herself onto a vigorous sleeping schedule to better prepare for exams. A book would not do, either, and it was too cold to fly. Soon, Harry found himself pacing, thinking.

Hours later, when Snape finally returned, Harry was waiting for him.

"This is stupid." Harry said without preamble as Snape walked through the door, looking nearly as fresh as he had when he had left. Harry heaved a mental sigh of relief and decided that perhaps nothing too horrible had happened, this time.

"What is, Potter?" Snape snapped, removing his cloak and shoes before sitting on the couch. Harry came to sit next to him, for the first time opting to sit closer to his Patroni rather than farther away.

"I don't…I don't really know what I want, true. But I know that I get very aggravated and worried when you go to meetings, and I know that I care about and respect you, and I know that I…I _want_ to be with you, in some way, and if I can't define which way that is, does it matter right now?" Snape raised his eyebrows at the boy, who wasn't meeting his eyes anymore. Harry seemed to have grown a sudden fascination with the frayed edges of his jeans, and refused to look up.

"And what if I don't want to be with _you_, Potter?" Harry's shoulders flinched, although the rest of his body didn't move. Severus noted that this had happened several times now, and wondered if it was something specific to the boy.

"Well, then you could tell me as much, and we could just forget about it." Harry muttered, seemingly frozen in place.

"Potter…Harry, you're trapped in a spelled relationship with me for the next three years. It makes sense that you would form a physical or emotional attachment to me, but that doesn't mean you want to _be_ with me." Harry looked up finally, unable to resist. The other man was looking at him steadily, with no hint of emotion on his face, wearing what Harry had begun to call the 'Snape Mask'.

"Well, I can't say I would have felt this way if the spell hadn't forced us to spend so much time together. But like Ron said, the spell can't _create_ feelings, just enhance them. So obviously I'm genuinely feeling this way, and I'd like to at least see where…things go." Snape stood abruptly and went to the door of his bedchambers, unable to stand the conversation longer.

"I will not take advantage of a confused teenage boy…again." At that, Snape couldn't help but smirk, and Harrys blush was reward enough. "Go to bed Potter. In three years, if we're both still alive and once I've released you from this bond, you can tell me what you think, then."

Harry was left to stare at the fire as his professor went to bed, contemplating what had just been said.

* * *

><p><em>Stupid boy<em> Snape thought as he settled into his bed. During the break, it had become obvious that Potter was forming an attachment to him simply because of their close proximity—and perhaps because Snape had been more forward in his attraction than the other whelps at this cursed school.

Snape had been resolved to not take advantage of the situation—at least, to not _continue_ to take advantage of it. His original intentions of making Harry Potter incredibly nervous by implying a desire to have him had backfired when Harry Potter had decided he _wanted_ to be had, and it took a great deal of strength on Snapes part to now avoid what was very obviously on offer.

It was one thing to scare the boy with implications, and quite another to follow through on those implications and take full advantage of the situation. _Damn, blithering fool_. The fact that Harry Potter seemed to _want_ so many things from him made the entire situation lunacy. Snape knew that Potter was just forming a logical attachment to someone who was closest to him in his personal life, and that without the spell the boy would never have looked twice at him. But was there really so much harm in taking advantage of that?

_In three years, you'll be alone again and he'll either be dead or off living his own life._ His reasonable self made passing good arguments, but as in all things, reason was weaker in the shade of the night.

"Severus," the voice startled him from his musings, and once again his hand was halfway to his wand before he realized that the boy was standing beside the bed. He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't heard the door open, and cursed himself for the lapse.

"What is it, Potter." He was in no mood to hear any more from the idiot boy, but it seemed he was doomed as said idiot boy climbed into his bed, bold as he pleased.

"I'm not going to sleep in my own bed anymore." The Fool declared. Seething, Snape opened his mouth to respond.

"Potter, I _order_ you—" and then, said idiot boy was kissing him. Clumsily, yes, hesitantly, but he was kissing him, and there was only so close a proximity that Snape could take before reason flew right out the window all together. When the kiss ended, Potter smiled up at him with a lopsided grin.

"I've noticed that kissing is quite effective in ending a person's line of speech." Snape felt a surge of jealousy at the statement, and rolled Harry until the boy was pinned under him, kissing him back to show him how it was done.

"Kissing many people to shut them up, are you?"

"N-no." Harry panted, his hands coming up to touch the other man's side, back, and hips. "I saw Hermione use it on Ron. I haven't been kissing _anyone_—ah!" Snape had found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, which effectively cut off his own speech and caused Harry to arch towards him in a most delectable way.

"Good." The man growled, intent on slipping the now incoherent boy out of his pajamas.

"What are you…Oh!" Harry arched off the bed as Snape took him into his mouth, clutching the bed sheets and making incoherent noises only punctuated by groans and panting. As the entire experience was completely new to him, Harry didn't last long. He spent himself far too soon, crying out Severus' name and feeling a wash of embarrassment in the next instant when he realized what he had said. Snape didn't seem to notice though, and Harry was soon all too interested in his Patroni's arousal.

"Potter…" Snape cautioned, but Harry ignored him.

"I want to," he insisted as he began to tentatively explore the man's rather large length with hands and eyes. The sounds Snape made were not as loud or as frequent as his own, but Harry loved electing them, and grew more confident in his exploration. When he began to apply his mouth and tongue, the sounds grew in frequency and Snapes fingers twined through his hair, guiding his head further down. Harry was uncertain about being able to fit _all_ of Snape into his mouth, but he tried his best, and soon the sounds Snape was making turned into full-out groans. Harry _loved_ those sounds, and he felt himself growing half-hard once again.

"Harry," Snape warned, but the boy didn't listen, and tried to swallow all of his seed as he finally came. He nearly managed it, too, and the sight of Harry licking _his_ come from his lips was enough to send a new twitch of arousal through him.

"Why do girls always say that it tastes bad?" Harry asked, his face a set in an almost innocent look of confusion. The question startled a laugh from Severus—a true laugh—and Harry grinned widely. He moved up the bed, leaning an elbow by Snapes shoulder and resting his fingers on the other mans collar bone. He wanted to tell Snape that he liked it when he laughed, but he didn't want to put the man on his guard, so instead he pushed the question. "Well?" Severus had a hand on Harrys shoulder, and his nails were digging in tight—which Harry was surprised to find he liked.

"I suppose it's a different experience for everyone," he responded, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"I guess. But I like it." His face and neck were red again, and Snape wondered at how this boy could be embarrassed after what they had just done.

"Good." He smirked, and Harry moved his elbow so he was lying with his head on Severus' chest.

"Could you try not to kick me out again for another few weeks? I'd like to get b—" he yawned. "Better at it." Snape snorted.

"I'll promise no such thing." He said, but by that time Harry was already asleep.

* * *

><p>True to his word, Snape locked Harry from the bedroom for the next week, insisting that the boy couldn't afford more distractions with OWLs being sat for all that week. Harry looked at him suspiciously and muttered, but it was probably a little bit true, so he let it be. If it was only a week, he thought, he could stand it.<p>

After the exhausting week of OWLs and sleepless nights spent studying even harder, if that was possible, Harry was eating dinner with his friends when he received a summons to visit Dumbledore. Leaving his worried friends, he made his way to the headmasters office and bore the usual inquiries to his health and insistence on lemon drops before Dumbledore got to the heart of the matter.

"Now Harry, I'm sure you're wondering what's to be done with you this summer." Harry gave a start—he actually hadn't thought of it at all. Dumbledore chuckled.

"Well of course you've been a bit…preoccupied, hm? No matter. I'm going to share with you some things that, in any other circumstance would get me fired. However, as a very _young_ member of the Order—a member in name, only—I believe you have a right to understand the current situation." Harry nodded, trying to control his excitement at finally being allowed information. Whenever he had asked Snape, the man had told him to ask Dumbledore, who had told him something that always boiled down to 'not yet, my dear boy. Lemon drop?' Dumbledore smiled at the eager look on Harrys face and continued. "Voldemort might have inadvertently broken the blood-spell protection of your family by sharing your blood, in which case your family's house is no longer safe."

"So I get to stay here?" Harry interrupted, suddenly incredibly excited at the prospect. The Headmaster made an admonishing gesture and continued.

"_However_, Tom has taken a sudden interest into a prophecy that was spoken to me, and he is attempting to infiltrate the Ministry in order to obtain it."

"What prophecy?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.

"I will tell you the prophecy in a moment, Harry, but it is not something you are going to like, and the circumstances surrounding it are…unfortunate. I intended to leave the full story for Severus to tell, but he has made it quite clear that he does not intend to share it with you, and has given me permission to do so if I think it wise." Harrys face was a mask of confusion, and Dumbledore sighed.

"But all of that in a moment, Harry. Right now, the Order is posed for the attack on the Ministry, waiting. Voldemort might not even be aware that he has access to your family house, and he certainly does not know where the Dursleys live. What I propose is for you to return to the Dursleys for one more summer, after which you will remain either at Hogwarts or at Headquarters. I do not want you to stay at Hogwarts or the Headquarters this summer for two very important reasons; first, with the attack on the Ministry imminent, Headquarters is going to be a hubbub of action that you are not yet invited to join. Secondly, if Voldemort _does_ figure out where you are and does decide to attack you, it might flush the spy from our ranks."

"Spy?" Harry asked, shocked. Dumbledore nodded sadly.

"I intend to put about with certain members of the order that you will be staying at Hogwarts from now on, and with certain other members that you have returned to Surrey for one more year. If Voldemort does attack you, I will have a reasonably good idea of who the spy is."

"I…" Harry couldn't say much to that, as his thoughts were all a jumble, so Dumbledore continued on.

"I know it is a lot to ask, Harry, and if you do not wish to do this I will, of course, not force you. However, you will be constantly supervised and those that I trust will be ready and willing to come to your aid in the event where you are attacked. Severus has constructed a spell-form within the original Patroni-Cliens spell that will alert him when you use your magic in your family house, and of course you would not use your magic in anything besides a true emergency, correct?" Harry nodded.

"Of course. And of course I'll do it; anything I can do to help." The Headmaster grinned widely.

"It certainly does help, my boy. Thank you for agreeing." Dumbledore offered another lemon drop, which Harry declined before inquiring about the Prophecy.

"Ah yes…Well, as to that, my dear boy…"

* * *

><p>Snape was unaccustomed to not seeing Harry after dinner, and he found himself slightly more agitated than usual, which agitated him further. <em>You're acting like a covetous lover, Snape! <em>He raged at himself, slamming a book down on the table and sitting, preparing to read his thoughts into oblivion. _Bugger him, _he thought. Then, moments later, he grimaced. _Poor word choice._

When Harry finally came through the door, Snape had succeeded in oblivion, though it was more thanks to the scotch than to the book. Harry went straight to the bedroom without looking at Snape and began throwing things around until it seemed he had fit all of his possessions into his small trunk.

"Going somewhere, Potter?" Snape asked, unable to rid his voice completely of the snide tone.

"Yeah, Dumbledore asked me to go back to the Dursleys one more time, and I said I'd do it." Snape had discussed the plan with the Headmaster, of course, and he'd known that Harry would never turn down a way to help with the war, but even still he felt like he was missing something.

"Of course…You are aware, aren't you, that the train doesn't leave for another day?" Harry stopped what he was doing and turned, managing to look both hurt and angry.

"Dumbledore told me about the Prophecy." He winced when he realized his voice sounded accusing. He hadn't meant to bring it up at all; his mind knew now why Snape had switched sides; in penance, almost, for what he had caused. But the wounds were still fresh, and coupled with the sudden knowledge of being the 'Chosen One', Harry wasn't exactly stable enough to be reasonable.

"I see," Snape said, his hands going still over the face of his book.

"Yeah—so, we should not talk, at the moment." Harry had meant to say; 'I shouldn't talk, because I'll say things I regret,' but he supposed that would have to do. Turning, he made his way to _his_ bedroom and locked the door behind him. He fell into bed and tried to will sleep, but the elusive bastard chose not to be accommodating and Harry Potter lay awake all night, trying to reason through his tangled emotions.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape did not see Harry leave, and he supposed that was just as well. The boy had obviously become disillusioned after hearing of how Snape had betrayed his parents to death, and the man could hardly blame him for it. He could, however, blame himself for allowing to boy to force his way into his bed, and he did so scathingly.<p>

_You knew it was coming, Severus. Why in the bloody hell did you allow things to continue as long as they did?_

No amount of self-chastisement was going to get him out of his bad mood, however, so he was content to brew in silence.

* * *

><p>Harrys time with the Dursleys went much as usual, although he spent more time in his room now than he ever had previously, and the tension over being literally bait was beginning to wear on him. His nightmares had grown worse, and although he practiced his occlumency every night and never opened the link between himself and Voldemort, the nightmares seemed to be real portrayals of current or future events. War, death, torture—in short, all the things that were either happening, or would happen soon—and Harry was wasting his time at Number 4, Privet Drive.<p>

It grated. It wore on him so much that he spent days trying to find a reasonable excuse to just leave, and go back to Hogwarts on his own. But he knew he was doing important work in flushing out the spy, even if all the work he seemed to be doing was gardening, housecleaning, and cooking. His family had become even more hostile towards him once he had let slip that he would not be coming back next year. They seemed to think he should not be there _this_ year, if he intended to leave their protection a year early, anyway.

The entire situation caused confrontations that he attempted to avoid by staying in his room, but that was a different sort of hell. For in his room, all he could do was think, and study. Thinking inevitably led to thinking about Severus, which brought up a whole mess of confused emotions. By the end of the second month, Harry had forgiven the other man, knowing that one way or another, his parents had been doomed with Peter Pettigrew as their secret keeper. It had only been a matter of time, really, and Harry knew now from Dumbledore that had Snape known _who_ the prophecy had been about, he would never have reported it.

Hearing about Snapes friendship and love for his mother had at first made Harry uncomfortable, wondering if Snape was only with him because—somehow—Harry reminded him of Lily. Dumbledore had somehow seen that, though, and had assured Harry in a very subtle and round-about-way that Snape and Lily's friendship had been strong _because_ of Snapes sexual preferences. It only took a few allusions to Snapes past for Harrys knowledge of the area to click, and the boy had ceased to worry about it. Instead, he wanted to know more about his mother when she was a child, and he soon found himself burning with questions for Severus—questions he knew he probably shouldn't ask.

And that was the whole crux of the matter, really. After forgiving the other man, he began to wonder if Snape could forgive _him_. He had left without seeing him, purposefully avoiding him, and now he spent hours on end in his room, thinking about where that left them.

One day, Harry had taken a walk in order to shake off some of the anxiety—just a quick turn around the block, true, but it helped nonetheless. When he returned, he found Vernon alone in the house—and, more importantly, alone in Harrys _room_. The man had been looking through the discarded papers that littered Harrys desk, and when Harry saw what paper his uncle had picked up, he didn't even think before casting a spell.

* * *

><p>Severus Snape was brewing a potion when he felt the alarm spell go off, warning him that Potter had cast a spell. Without thinking to alert Dumbledore, utterly unconcerned for the procedures they had agreed upon, the man instantly left his quarters for a safe-apparation spot and disapparated. When he arrived at Number 4, Privet Drive, nothing seemed to be amiss. Proceeding with extreme caution and cursing himself for not notifying Dumbledore, he moved towards the door and stepped inside—only to be greeted by shouting from upstairs.<p>

"Bloody _faggot! _I will not have you in this house boy, do you hear me?" For a moment, Snape felt as though he was in his own home again, before shaking himself free of the memory and bounding up the stairs two at a time.

"You _idiot,_ you vile, obese, _disgusting_ man! I am so bloody tired of your shit!" Well, at least Potter wasn't just taking the abuse, he thought as he approached the door of the room, wand raised.

"I will not have you in my house boy, you and your _freakish perversity_! OUT!" Vernon roared as Snape stepped into the room, stunning the man as he spoke the last word. Harry turned to him, chest heaving in ire and wand raised, and stared for a moment before he lowered his arm.

"Oh!" he gasped eyes going wide as he realized what he had done. Snape eyed the fat man on the floor with distaste. The blisters along the man's arms and face did nothing to improve his image.

"Well, you might have cast a more imaginative spell, to call me all the way here for this." The man drawled. Harry bowed his head.

"I didn't…I didn't think about it. He saw…I mean, are the other Order members on their way?" Snape shook his head slightly, wondering what it was the fat man had seen.

"I decided to check on the situation before calling them here. You _are_ prone to bouts of rash action." Harry sighed.

"I know. I'm sorry. I…I'm not sure I can stay here anymore." Snape eyed the messy room, wondering how bored Potter had been. It was a surprise to find he hadn't cast a spell _sooner_, really, with what little there was to do in this dump.

"What caused this particular outburst?" Snape asked, stepping over a pile of clothes to the desk, which seemed to have been the center of the conflict.

"I caught him reading that paper…" Harry said, wondering if he should ask Snape not to read it. The bastard probably would read it anyway, so he held his breath and stood in silence while Snape perused the half-started letter.

_Snape,_

_Professor Snape,_

_Severus,_

_Patroni,_

_Severus,_

_Snarky Severus,_

_SS,_

_I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye, I had to think about a lot of stuff and I didn't want to say anything I knew I'd regret. I don't blame you, about the prophecy thing. I'm sorry for leaving without…_

_I don't know what to say here, but I'm writing because I—_

_Sometimes I think about what it might be like to be with anyone else, and I just can't picture it. A girl would just be weird, squishy and soft in all the wrong places, and they'd smell wrong too, and taste wrong. A guy wouldn't be much better because it wouldn't be your smell, your voice, your sarcastic wit, your hands…_

_I miss you._

_I miss your voice and smell and how you say my name. I miss the feeling of your body pressed against mine, the dark stares you sometimes give me. I miss sitting in class and shivering when your eyes meet mine. I miss touching you, feeling you touch me. I miss how you _taste_. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever-_

_Yours,_

_Sincerely_

_Utterly hopeless_

_Idiotic, rambling_

_The Boy_

_Harry_

_HP._

When Snape had finished reading, Harrys face was red, as he had been given time to remember exactly what the letter had said. Snape was smirking at him, which only made it worse because a smirk from Severus could mean just about anything; from 'you are failing so very utterly and completely' to 'I'm going to make you scream my name'.

"You spend _far_ too much of your time thinking, Mr. Potter. I believe it's time we left." And with that, the other man quickly packed Harrys things, released a blubbering Vernon from the spell, and Appirated away with a speechless Harry at his side.

* * *

><p>AN: Review? Also, I'm SORRY, but ff.n doesn't want to keep my original formatting, and ALL of the letter save 'Ss, I miss you. -HP' was strike-out text. Legible, but obvious that Harry crossed it out and never intended to send the letter.


	7. Chapter 7: To Stand Amidst the Shadows

A/N:LOOK GUYS! A NEW CHAPTER! This is a promise-chapter. I am still in the midst of school work, changing living situations and changing employment situations, so this story—and Invictus—is still on hiatus until further notice (probably at least until mid-summer). However, I have been on the receiving-end of hiatus stories before, and I loooathe the feeling of checking to see if there's a new chapter and being endlessly disappointed. Thus, I give you this chapter as a promise that I _will_ continue it, even though I know it's hard to wait so long between updates. I also promise to write at least four chapters a year, in the event that my life is still as hectic and busy as it is now, so that this story will be completed. You will also receive—within the next week—a 'promise chapter' of Invictus, as well. SO sorry for all the waiting. Love you. Love reviews. –That-fresh-rain-smell

Oh, PS: Since only one person responded about my lyrics question, I've decided to compromise and put them at the end and beginnings of chapters, rather than inside the actual story. If you want to know who sings the lyrics/what songs they are, I will respond if you ask!

* * *

><p><em>I want to hunt like David<br>I want to kill me a giant-man  
>I want to slay my demons<br>But I've got lots of them, I've got lots of them_

Chapter Seven: To Stand Amidst the Shadows

When Harry and Snape returned to the dungeon quarters, Harry was exasperated.

"_Now_ can I ask questions?" He asked, settling his things down in their room and turning to face the other man.

"No," Snape growled, and Harry gulped when he saw the look in his eyes. The other man began stalking towards him, and Harry instinctively backed up until his back was against a wall.

"But—" Harry protested feebly as Snape pushed himself hard against Harry, scraping the boys back against the wall and placing his knee between his legs.

"_Stupid_ boy." Snape muttered. And then he was kissing him, and the harsh press of lips against his own made Harry groan and open his mouth, bringing his hands up to pull Snape closer against him.

When Snape finally released his mouth, Harry was panting, and all his questions had melted away to leave him trapped in _wanting_. Snape smirked at him, and this time Harry knew what the smirk meant.

"Into the bed," Snape ordered, and Harry scrambled to oblige.

* * *

><p>"<em>Now<em> you may ask questions," Snape said, once the two of them were lying in bed, sweaty and unclothed.

"I—I just wanted to know, if I shouldn't remain at the Dursleys? I never flushed out the spy like Dumbledore asked." Snape nearly rolled his eyes.

"The use of your magic alerted the Ministry, which is corrupt with the Dark Lords followers. If he hasn't already, it would be too easy for him to find where you live without this purported spy's help." Harry sighed.

"Oh."

"Indeed, Mr. Potter. Obviously there was no other course of action than to take you away from there—"

"—and to have your wicked way with me?" Harry asked cheekily. Snape frowned and yanked Harrys hair, hard.

"Brat." Harry grinned despite how much his scalp now hurt, although his face was a mite pink once more.

"But…I kind of failed in what Dumbledore asked me to do, didn't I?" he asked, looking disappointed and angry with himself. Snape shook his head.

"You were there for nearly two months, and there wasn't a single hint that there might be an attack planned. If there is a spy, they either recognized this for a trap, or they're a coward. Either way, I'm sure the Headmaster will understand, given the circumstances." Harry's shoulders slumped in relief and he gave the other man a timid smile.

"Thanks," he said appreciatively. Snape frowned.

"As to where you should go, now…" Harry looked up in alarm.

"I'm staying here, aren't I?" He asked, half pleading. Snape's frown grew.

"Oh yes, why not just alert the entire world that you're staying with me," he mocked, and Harry's face fell.

"Can't we just do like when I'm in school, and pretend I'm staying at Hogwarts in my own quarters?" he asked feebly, knowing Snape had probably already thought of that.

"And your friends, the other Order members living here? Surely they'd take notice, with so few people in the castle at present." Harry sighed and lay back down.

"We'll figure it out," he said firmly. "But I'm sleeping here every night." He waited for Snape to protest the statement, but the man merely twined his fingers lazily through Harry's hair. The boy wasn't sure if that was agreement, or if Snape had just grown tired of protesting but still held his own agenda. At the moment, he didn't care. He soon fell into an exhausted sleep, allowing his body to relax into that of the man under him.

* * *

><p>Harry woke for the first time to find himself still lying snugly against Severus, and he relished the feeling as the other man continued to sleep. He couldn't help but burrow his nose in the other mans shoulder, however, which promptly woke the light-sleeping ex-death-eater.<p>

"Potter, what do you think you're doing?" Snape asked, attempting a threatening tone but only succeeding in sounding vaguely baffled.

"Smelling," Harry said promptly, looking up and grinning at the other man. Snape rolled his eyes.

"Because stale sweat and man-smell are _so _irresistible." He said snidely. Harrys heart skipped a beat as he thought, _was that a JOKE? From SNAPE!_ And his grin widened.

"It is when it's _you_," he insisted, cuddling closer. Instead of having the intended effect, Snapes face almost immediately shuttered as he detangled himself from the boy, rising from the bed to dress.

"Why did that upset you?" Harry asked, genuinely confused and a little hurt. Snape glared over his shoulder as he buttoned his robe, having got dressed incredibly quickly.

"I'm not _nice_, Potter. I don't exchange_ endearments_, I don't _cuddle_ and I will certainly not act like your _boyfriend._" He spit the last word out as though it was a vile one, and Harrys eyes grew round with surprise before narrowing in anger as he got up from the bed to follow Snape from the room.

"I never—what the bloody hell are you on about! I was just telling the truth, just saying the first thing that came to mind!" he shouted in confused exasperation. Snape turned and stood by the bar, seeming to contemplate a drink before turning his full glare on Harry, who was undeterred. "I never _asked_ you to be _anything_ to me! But you are, you are _something_ to me and I don't see why telling you I like how you smell can cause this severe a reaction! You didn't seem to mind cuddling last night!" His response to what Snape had said was all a-jumble, but he pressed on. Traversing the room to stand in front of the other man, he crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared back into Snapes eyes. His voice became much more calm as he went on, looking steadily at the man before him.

"I don't _like_ 'nice', Severus. Nice is _useless_. I like strong, I like intelligent, I like your capability to put up with me and your persistence in teaching me. I like how you smell and how you smile when you forget not to frown or glower, I like the look in your eyes when you look at me and I like how you make me feel and the things you make me want to do. I like the fact that I feel _safe_ when I'm with you—even if that's completely ludicrous!—and I like your snarky wit when it's not directed at me and sometimes even when it is." Harry took a breath, and noticed with satisfaction that Snapes glower had lost a little of its heat.

"I like _you_ and I have no idea where you got this notion of _boyfriend_ but I am your cliens and you are my patroni and I think it'd be wonderful if we could actually _like_ each other, since we're stuck together anyway." Snape massaged the bridge of his nose and looked down at the irritating boy standing in front of him, distractingly naked.

"Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Potter, that I'm not interested in any sort of relationship? Did you ever consider, even momentarily, that I don't relish the idea of your finding yourself attracted to me, of liking me, simply because I _am_ your patroni, and you my cliens?" Harry shifted his feet and balled his hands at his sides.

"But that's not—!"

"And did it ever occur to you, Mr. Potter, that regardless of how much you might like me now, how much your enjoying your time with me—which, by the way, is questionable—there will come a time in the near future in which you will absolutely despise me. You do not even know me well enough to decide if you like me, Potter." The last was said with biting anger, and Harry glared back at the other man fiercely.

"I like what I have seen of you, I like what I do know—enough to want to know you better. Why in the world would I despise you? Why would you ever think that?" Before Severus could answer, Harry continued. "And I _do_ like you, regardless of the magical, bonding relationship we've been forced into. The magic can't create false emotions so I know that what I feel is real. And yeah—maybe I wouldn't have felt this way if I wasn't forced to spend so much time with you, but I was and I do so none of that matters!"

Snape moved around Harry to sit on the couch, suddenly looking solemn and severe. The drastic change from anger to solemnity scared Harry more than anything else as the entire mood distinctly shifted. Sifting through the conversation, Harry pinpointed the strangest part and repeated the question.

"Why would I despise you soon? What do you know that I don't?" his voice was half defiant, half vulnerable, and Snape sighed, making Harry more nervous than before.

"Go get some trousers on, at least." He ordered. Harry only then fully realized that he'd been carrying on the argument while naked, and a blush warmed his neck as he returned to the bedroom to dress. When he walked back into the living room, Snape had set two tumblers of firewhiskey on the coffee table and was sitting forward on the couch, still looking too solemn for Harrys liking. The boy sat in the armchair so he was directly across from the other man, who waited for him to take a drink before beginning.

"I am reasonably certain that you have not yet thought through the potential ramifications of a spy in the Order." He began, and Harry shook his head.

"I guess I haven't, really." He admitted as Snape nodded.

"I thought as much. Most of the Order is kept in the dark about the higher-level plans, and there is a form of hierarchy within the Order. Dumbledore, obviously, is our leader. Under him there is me, and you. Under us there is Remus, Black, Tonks, Mad-Eye, Hagrid, Minerva. Under them come Arthur and Molly Weasley, and other families that are involved on a part-time basis due to their connections, sensitivity to certain matters, and children. Under all of _them_ are what you might refer to as the foot-soldiers, the unaware but dutiful people who carry out plans without knowing their purpose." Harry obviously already had a question, so Severus stopped and motioned for him to go ahead.

"Why are you and I on a level below Dumbledore but above the rest?" he asked. Snape nearly rolled his eyes.

"Because you are the Chosen One, and I am your Patroni, and Dumbledore knows everything." He said dryly. Harry hit himself on the forehead and sat back in his chair.

"Right, duh. I almost forgot. Sorry, continue. Why is this important?" Snape glared.

"I'm getting to that. So there is a hierarchy. The reason Dumbledore is convinced of a spy within our midst is that the Dark Lord has anticipated several of our recent attacks before we actually made them—showing up before us, laying traps, etc. The knowledge of those attacks were shared only with myself, and several key Order members." Harry's eyes widened.

"So it would be….Lupin, Sirius, Tonks, Mad-Eye, Hagrid, Minerva, or…the Weasleys?" Harry asked uneasily. Snape nodded.

"That, or one of them has been polyjuiced, as you saw in your fourth year. And of the people who know about our…specific relationship…"

"Only you, me, Hermione, Ron, and Dumbledore know about it though, right?" Harry asked, this time taking a larger drink.

"In theory, Potter. But is it hard to believe that Ron might assume, since his family are all Order members but for the youngest, that it would do no great harm to tell them something of it?" Harry gulped.

"I…I don't _think_ he would…" He ventured.

"And how discreet were you three being in discussing all of this while at the Burrow, over Christmas holiday? Surely, you felt safe at the Burrow, among Order members, and Dumbledore never told you specifically _not_ to let on that anything had changed." Harry shifted in his seat, trying to recall.

"I…we only talked about it behind closed doors, but…we never felt the need to use a silencing spell, or anything." He admitted.

"So, presumably, there is a chance that—by one means or another—the Dark Lord is now aware of our relationship." Harry nodded slowly.

"You can't go back—you can't go to any more Death Eater meetings," Harry said firmly. Snapes eyes flashed with anger.

"I most certainly can—and will. The chance is small that the Dark Lord knows anything about our relationship, and if he does happen to know, what will he do about it? Order me to bring you to him? If he has found out, he will know beyond a doubt that my loyalties have changed, and ordering me to do anything will be nigh-useless. Besides, there is something you are not aware of. The Dark Mark, put upon every Death Eater, has a form of compulsion spell written into every line. It _forces_ us to his side, no matter where we are or how difficult the journey. Once we are there, the compulsion ends, but before that we are only mindless creatures, following a call." Harry sat up, distressed.

"But he could hurt you!" Snape gave him his most penetrating glare.

"Yes, Potter, he _will_ hurt me—as he does nearly _every_ meeting. The only advantage we would have in this situation is that, to his knowledge, hurting me will not bring you any great distress."

"But of course it would!" Harry yelled indignantly.

"I _know_ that, idiot boy! My point is—to the wizarding world at large, we still despise each other. And even if the Dark Lord knows about this relationship, he could never in a million years believe that you actually _like _your greasy, old, Death Eater potions master! For all he knows—and all he should _ever_ know—you're trapped in a very undesirable relationship that you simply can't get out of." Harry looked aghast.

"But, how will pretending that that's true help anything?"

"If the Dark Lord was aware that you liked me—that, in fact, you aren't overmuch bothered by this forced relationship—he would use me, hurt me, to get you to come running." Snape delivered all of this with a monotone voice, as though he were reciting potions ingredients.

"And what will he do if we keep up the pretense of disliking each other, but he knows about the Patroni thing, and you go to another meeting?" Harry pressed.

"He will most likely seek a way to use the relationship to his advantage, and not kill me out-of-hand. Perhaps he will try to convince me to change loyalties once again, either through torture or gifts. Either way, he will not kill me immediately, which will give me time to escape and return here."

"I don't like it." Harry set his jaw and crossed his arms, having drained his glass.

"You don't _have_ to like it, Potter." Snape growled.

"I still don't understand how this could make me despise you." Harry muttered.

"Because, Potter. In the worst-case scenario, the Dark Lord will figure out a way to use this spell against us, and he will use me, to get to you, and we will all die and our cause is lost." Harry snorted.

"Yeah, but I don't see why that's _your_ fault."

"The Dark Lord is like a cat with mice, Harry. He will toy with us first." He leveled a look at Harry which seemed to say; _you _decide how depraved and horrible that could be. Harry gulped.

"And there's no way to avoid the…compulsion? To go to a meeting?"

"Not that I have found, no."

"Meaning that, even if you do get called, trapped, tortured, and escape…you'd have to come back again just at the crook of his finger?" Snapes mouth was a hard line, and he hesitated before speaking.

"I've been able to fight the compulsion before, for up to two weeks. But that is my limit, and it is…painful." Harry made a miserable sound of distress.

"But, all of this is hypothetical, right? We don't know if Ron said anything, or if anyone in his family is a traitor, or polyjuiced, or imperiused. It could all just be supposition." Snape inclined his head.

"It could very well be, and I hope it is. What I find most disturbing, however, is the fact that Dumbledore did not caution any of you to keep this relationship a deadly secret. In fact, he's acted rather carelessly in the whole matter. Which leads me to assume…"

"That he _wants_ us to be captured, or you to be captured, or the Dark Lord to know, or…or he's not really one of the good guys." Snape nodded gravely.

"I have always trusted in Albus, in his wild schemes. I have trusted him blindly, even when I believed him to be barking mad, and I have always been proven wrong; he has always had an incredibly good reason for the things he does. I cannot—will not—believe that the man I have trusted and even cared for would so easily throw me to the wolves without a very good reason. Which leaves me to only one other conclusion, that the road ahead is far darker than we otherwise have thought." Harry nodded slowly, wrapping his mind around the many new things he was now forced to consider. Looking up at his Patroni, the fierce light in his eyes yet undimmed, he continued their previous conversation.

"I still like you. And like I said a while ago, I'm not going to blame you for the cruelties of others." Snape stood in agitation and paced.

"You don't seem to be comprehending the gravity of the situation, Potter. The Dark Lord is beyond cruel—if he gets his hands on you, on me, he will break our minds, spirits, and bodies before killing us. Do you have any idea what that might entail?" He turned on Harry, glaring. The younger man stood, facing his professor and exhaling sharply.

"You basically said that…he'll do all we could possibly conceive to hurt us, break us, before killing us. Yes, I understand that." Snape glowered and strode towards Harry until he was inches from him.

"Do you, Potter? Then how could you possibly want to continue this…relationship? How can you possibly claim to _like_ me, why in the world would you possibly want to know me better if _that_ is all you have to look forward to? Do you realized how much it will hurt you, with your soft Gryffindor heart, to see someone you _like_ being harmed? You wouldn't stand a chance."

"Oh! So you're concerned about my heart, are you!" Harry crowed triumphantly, and Snape grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall.

"You sniveling _fool!_ I am concerned with your _survival_, as this apparently is the only way to ensure the Dark Lords defeat. Never think for a moment that I am concerned with anything else." Harrys face fell, but he pressed onwards in anger, if nothing else.

"Fine! Well if the worst-case scenario is to be tortured, beaten, _raped_ even, and killed, then I for damn sure would rather have some good memories to pit against all that! Do you seriously think that I'm going to be bloody _fine_ with having my first time amount to _rape!_" he yelled, suddenly regretting in when Snape released him to walk off across the room.

"Is rape not one of the things you meant, then?" Harry asked more quietly, and Snape shook his head.

"It's likely one of the many forms of torture you'd be up against." Was all he said.

"So, does it not make sense then, that I'd rather have my first time with someone I like, respect, trust, feel safe with?"

"You _should not_ feel that way towards a Death Eater, Potter," the other man snapped.

"_Ex_ Death Eater. And I do. So will you please quit it with all the hypothetical dooms-day advice and…and take me back to bed?" Severus turned, surprise showing in his eyes though not his face.

"_Now_, Potter?" he asked in disbelief. Harry crossed the distance between them and put his hands on the other mans hips, feeling oddly confident.

"Yes, now. Please." He hated saying please—it sounded too much like begging. But it was apparently the exactly right thing to say, as Snape hesitated only slightly before stalking Harry back into the bedroom, a fierce hunger now lighting his eyes.

_I try to k-k-keep my conscience clean_

_I try to k-k-keep myself out of your bad dreams_

_I try to wash my hands for you every night_

_Oh, lest you find my strangling fingers wrapped around you tight..._

* * *

><p>AN: I know, I know, it's a very short chapter. And I totally skimped on the smut, and I'm sorry for that. HOWEVER, this chapter lead me to planning out the NEXT chapter, which means you will see a chapter 8 within the next week. And I guess I could be persuaded to add more smut to that one. Hope you liked it!


	8. Chapter 8: To Bear the Weight

Chapter Eight: To Bear the Weight of Thousands

Harry Potter was sad to see the summer go. It had begun with tedious boredom, personal struggle and emotional confliction, but the last two weeks of summer had been two of the best weeks of his life. After their discussion and argument, Severus had relaxed ever so slightly, which for him was a good amount. The two of them hadn't fought once, and while things weren't perfect between them, there seemed to be an unspoken truce designed to enjoy the time while they could.  
>Harry had finally shaken his troublesome virginity, and had found the experience more incredible than he had ever imagined. His birthday, merely days after he returned to Hogwarts with Severus, was one of the best birthdays he had ever had. He woke up to see Severus dressing, and when the man noticed he was awake he wished Harry a blithe happy birthday, as though it was something he said to Harry every year and wasn't of much import.<p>

The simple morning greeting on his birthday meant volumes. Harry was unable to speak for a moment, and while he searched for words the other man left the room, seeming not to notice Harrys sudden silence. He had never been wished a happy birthday upon waking up. No mother or father to shake him awake with a smile and a sing-song phrase that heralded his special day, the day of his birth. No presents for the first ten years until Hagrids slightly squashed cake. And even after he came to Hogwarts, the most he got on his birthday had been letters and parcels unless he happened to be at the Weasleys.

Harry had left the bedroom, expecting to see Severus at his customary place behind his desk, but the man was seated on the couch in front of the coffee table, which was loaded with presents and breakfast.  
>"Did you do this?" Harry had asked, startled out of his thoughts. Snape raised an eyebrow.<p>

"I believe that house elf that seems to like you thought you may want breakfast on your birthday. I wouldn't be surprised if the headmaster had given him a nudge, either." Harry was delighted nonetheless, and sat down to eat. He offered Severus food, but the man merely shook his head.

When Harry finished, he touched the other mans arm and thanked him. Snape looked startled.

"For what, Potter?" Harry smiled.

"For saying happy birthday," he looked away from the surprised look in the other mans eyes and began opening presents. From Mrs. Weasley he received a golden snitch jumper, something Snape grimaced at before looking away. Harry laughed and moved on, unwrapping a large box of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes merchandise. Severus looked interested in that.

"I had heard those twins had opened a shop, but I didn't know it was so prosperous that they could give so much away." Harry shuffled uncomfortably.

"Well, I might have…I gave them my Triwizard money, so they could start their shop. They tend to call me their benefactor." Severus stared at him with new appraisal, and Harry quickly moved on to open a small parcel from the headmaster. It contained very different socks, and Harry chuckled, quite forgetting his discomfort. Dobby had given him breakfast and two new hats he had knitted himself, and Hermione had sent a book; _Intention Behind the Dark Arts and its Meaning. _Severus wondered if he might borrow it, and Harry was glad to hand it over in favor of Rons book about the greatest wizards in history.

The two of them spent a quiet day reading, occasionally stopping to play chess, and by the time supper arrived Harry felt that he may have had the best birthday yet. Supper was a small affair in the hall, attended by the headmaster, Sirius, Hagrid, and Lupin. Snape declined to attend, no matter what Harry said, but it was an excellent evening. When Harry returned to Snapes quarters, he found the man reading and sat down to join him.

The reading didn't last long, however, and Harry decided much later that it absolutely was the best birthday he had ever had.

* * *

><p>As the summer came to a close, Severus became more guarded, and Harrys mind turned to several things he would like to take care of. Umbridge had left her position as DADA teacher, since she had not been able to stir up as much trouble as she would have liked. Her banns and restrictions meant little to the whole of Hogwarts, and even with her lackeys in Slytherin, she was unable to carry much clout among the whole, and most of the school had gone on as they liked regardless of her. When the minister came to Dumbledore wanting to know why his High Inquisitor was not being taken seriously, Dumbledore had responded enigmatically, saying that they had not realized it was a serious matter. Fudge had spluttered, but he seemed to have noticed that his influence was on the decline as a whole, and had taken himself and Umbridge away from the school.<p>

Voldemort had been quiet, but even so it was hard to ignore the stirrings of something dark on the fringes of wizard society. More and more people were turning to Dumbledore, not Fudge, to seek answers, and Dumbledore was as candid with them has he was with everyone else. As a result, there was talk in the wizarding world to remove Fudge, but as yet nothing had been determined.

Harry was more concerned with the compulsion of the Dark Mark than with any other problem. After his two half-perfect weeks with Severus, he didn't want that compulsion to continue. Having been raised in a world of Muggles, and only discovering magic at the age of eleven, he was still under the impression that, with magic, anything was possible. Because of this, he ended up thinking outside the box more often than others, and was unable to see restrictions in the same, ultimately binding way of others.

But if he was going to attempt to counter the curse set into Snapes arm, he would need Hermione. Thus, on the evening before the Hogwarts express arrived with his friends and schoolmates, he approached Severus for a favor. The two men had spent most of the day inside (Harry having exhausted himself on his Firebolt the previous day), and they were now seated comfortably, at either end of the couch, with Harry flipping through one of his new school books and Severus finishing Hermiones gift to Harry.

"Severus, can I ask you for a favor?" Harry finally asked, setting aside his book. Snape looked up with a grimace and glare fully at the ready. His grouchiness had resurfaced more and more as the summer closed, and on the eve of school he was almost back to normal, to Harrys dismay.

"You may ask, Potter, but I give no promises." Harry had expected something like this, and wasn't deterred.

"I'd like to work on something with Hermione, a kind of project, and we'll need a good place to meet, somewhere that has the right books and the proper facilities in the event that we need them…we could use the room of requirement, like we did for DADA last year, but since we don't know what books we'll need, and the Room is farther away from here, I thought maybe we could use your library and potions room." Harry had looked steadily at Severus through all of this, trying to convey how important this was to him, and the other man looked back at him for a while before answering.  
>"I would need to know why," he said finally, not giving a hint of his thoughts.<br>"I…I'm not ready to talk about it yet. To be honest, you'd think it was a waste of time. But I want to try." Severus frowned.  
>"I'm not giving the two of you access to my private facilities without even knowing why, Potter." Harry sighed.<br>"It's mostly research. When we get to a stage where we're ready to attempt a practical application, can I tell you then?" Severus thought about this a long while before answering.  
>"Very well. But you will give me notice before bringing Miss. Granger here, every time, and you will explain what you are doing either two months after you begin, or when you are ready to attempt practical applications, whichever comes first." Harry grinned.<br>"Thank you!" He said happily, and Snape watched him suspiciously as he picked his book back up. Deciding he'd rather not know, he returned to his own book, and the time passed unnoticed.

* * *

><p>When he had done, he stood and paced the room, growing more and more agitated. Harry finally noticed, looking up with concern when his Patroni continued to pace.<p>

"Whats the problem?" He finally asked, and Severus glanced at him before unconsciously rubbing his arm as he continued to pace. Harry understood immediately, and the first thing that came to mind instantly exited his mouth. "I don't want you to go."  
>"What you <em>want<em>, Potter, does not matter at all," the man snapped, exiting the room before Harry could say anything. Harry was halfway to the great hall before he realized that chasing Severus all over the palace grounds would be too conspicuous, so he returned to their quarters to wait.

Waiting was agony. After several different attempts at distracting himself, Harry finally gave up and paced the same circle around the room as Snape had. He eventually decided to exercise in order to relieve the stress, and ended up doing various in-room exercises until he collapsed, exhausted, by the hearth.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have, because the next thing he knew he was being stepped on.  
>"Potter! Imbecile!" Snapes ire was high, and Harry struggled to a seated position while trying to regain his breath after having it knocked out of him. Severus had come home through the floo, probably having visited the Headmaster to report before returning to his own quarters.<p>

"Sorry. I guess I—wanted to know—exactly when—you got home." Snape stared at him with incredulous anger. Once he realized that Harry was attempting a joke, and the absurdity of the situation sank in, he sighed. The older man sank into the couch, rubbing his head, as Harry rose and sat cautiously at the other end of the couch.

"Are you alright?" he finally asked hesitantly.

"Oh yes, smashing," Snape spat sarcastically, still rubbing his head.

"Can I do anything?" Harry asked, letting slide the sarcasm.

"You can sleep on the couch." Severus said tersely before heading for his room. Harry wanted to protest, but the tone brooked no argument and Harry didn't want to upset the man further. Sighing with resignation, Harry spread out on the couch and fell almost instantly to sleep.

* * *

><p>"Potter." Harry woke uncomfortably, partially because he was half off the couch and his arm and leg had fallen asleep, and partially because Snape was standing over him, wearing his Snape Mask.<p>

"Professor. Fancy meeting you here." Harrys humor had no effect, and he sat up, attempting to work the feeling back into his limbs. Snape continued to stand, mask in place, not saying a word. "I have a feeling you're going to say something I won't like." Harry said, grimacing. Snapes glare intensified.  
>"I think it would be best if you slept in your own room for the time being." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but closed it. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that Severus didn't hate him, and he never did anything without a reason. That reason may be convoluted and unnecessary, but there was always a reason.<p>

"What happened last night?" He asked instead. Snape eyed him appraisingly.

"I can't be certain there's anything wrong, but I sense that the Dark Lord knows I retrieved you from your Aunt and Uncles house this summer." Harry absorbed this.

"But, even if someone had been watching from inside the room…the contents of that letter were never discussed, and our relationship wasn't apparent. Even if someone was watching at all, it's more likely they were watching from outside."  
>"Be that as it may, I won't risk it." Snapes tone brooked no argument, but Harry was frowning.<p>

"Even if they know you took me from there, Dumbledore could have easily sent you to get me." Snape glared.  
>"And why would he send <em>me?<em> The world knows we hate each other, and Dumbledore would more likely have sent the Weasleys or another order member." Harry thought this was a feeble argument. Voldemort thought Dumbledore to be cunning and canny, but a little mad. It would make sense for him to do things with no rhyme or reason sometimes, and Voldemort wouldn't look too closely at the work of that 'batty old fool'.

"Even so, my sleeping in another room won't alleviate any suspicion, if there is any suspicion."

"You're sleeping in another room makes it easier for me to occlude our relationship. I don't have to fabricate any memories if the Dark Lord wants to know how and where I sleep, merely show him an image of myself, sleeping, alone in a room." Harry ran his hand through his hair.  
>"But you could show him that memory, regardless." Snape was looking more and more ominous.<p>

"I fear you haven't learned anything from your lessons. The more recent the memory, the fresher it is. Memories are almost impossible to fabricate, and if I were to show him an older memory of me sleeping alone, it would be obvious that the memory was aged." Harry sighed, frustrated.

"I don't see why it matters, all of this seems erroneous. Even if they knew you retrieved me from the Dursleys, there'd be no reason to assume that we have a relationship, and the Patroni-Cliens relationship would be almost impossible to ferret out on a _guess_." Snape was done explaining or arguing.

"Potter I _order_ you not to touch my bed!" Harry was, by now, furious. He stood to face Severus.

"Something else happened last night, something you're not telling me. What did he _do!?_ Bloody hell, let me _help!_" Snape looked ready to explode, but he held himself in check.

"_Out, _Potter," Harry looked like he wanted to say more, but he grabbed his broom and stalked out, utterly furious.

* * *

><p>Harry spend the morning flying, and once he felt more in control he went to meet his friends as they arrived at Hogwarts.<p>

"Harry!" He was overwhelmed by warmth when Hermione and Ron stepped off the platform, hugging him hard, and he was glad that he'd spent time to cool down so he could enjoy this. He followed his friends to Gryffindor tower to drop off their stuff before the three of them ended up in the room of requirement, a place where they could be sure not to be disturbed.

"So he just suddenly changed?" Hermione asked, frowning, as Ron stuffed a chocolate frog in his mouth.

"More or less, yeah. I think something happened at the meeting he doesn't want me to know about." He kicked a pillow in frustration. "What should I _do_?" he asked in exasperation when it seemed the others weren't going to supply anything.

"Well, what does he expect you to do?" Hermione asked, snagging one of Rons chocolate frogs and opening the wrapper.

"I don't know, act like a child, I guess. Throw a tantrum." Hermione nodded.  
>"Then don't," she said, when she'd finished her frog.<p>

Harry thought about that. It would mean accepting the new restrictions implicit in Snape's order not to touch his bed, but if he could get around them by acting like an adult, perhaps Snape would treat him like one and explain more thoroughly what was wrong. "It's worth a shot," he finally said. At that the discussion was over, and moved on to other things.  
>Ron and Hermione were eager to share about their summers, and a game of chess needed to be played, and homework had to be planned, of course. Harry nearly forgot his plan to surpass or overcome the curse of the Dark Mark until they were all sleepy and full, but as they were standing to leave he remembered.<p>

Hermione thought it was an excellent idea, and she was nearly overcome with the idea of access to Snape private library. Ron wasn't as enthusiastic. Being raised a Wizard, he accepted magical restrictions more readily than the other two, and thought that if there was a way around it, Snape would have found it.  
>"But you and Snape were <em>raised<em> as wizards," Hermione pointed out, Harry nodding. Ron scratched his head.  
>"Right, which means we know what's possible and what's not." He said. Hermione and Harry both hedged.<br>"Well…" Hermione said, looking at Harry.  
>"We think that maybe wizard-raised people tend to accept the magical restrictions without actually testing them, sometimes," Harry said. Ron looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he shrugged.<br>"If you're right, I won't argue with the results," The other two sighed in relief, not having wanted to offend Ron. "But if you're wrong," the redhead continued, smirking, "I'll say I told you so, and you'll never hear the end of it!" Hermione and Harry laughed, agreeing that that would be fair.

The trio didn't want to part just yet, but Harry was eager to try out his new tactic on Snape, and the other two wouldn't have minded some private time together. They parted at the Great Hall, and Harry spent the time on his way to the dungeon preparing himself for anything.

Snape looked up from his desk when Harry entered, and his eyes narrowed at Harrys calm demeanor.

"I didn't expect you back until you absolutely had to be, Potter," Snape observed, returning to his work.  
>"Ron and Hermione wanted time alone together. Speaking of, would it be alright if Hermione came by tonight to start on that project?" Snape looked suspicious.<br>"So soon?"

"It's rather urgent, to be honest." Severus pursed his lips.

"I suppose." The older man looked incredibly suspicious, but it was a reasonable request and he _was_ glad that Harry wasn't pushing the other issue.

Harry thanked him, then went into the other room to change into his pajama bottoms. He emerged shirtless, putting his own, unspoken plan into action. He sat on the couch, facing the desk rather than with his back to it, and began to read. Snape didn't say a word or look up from his desk for more than two hours, by which point Harry had forgotten his ulterior motives and was fully engrossed in his book.

"Shouldn't you be meeting your friends for supper, Potter?"

Harry glanced at the clocked, muttered a curse, and ran into the bedroom to change. When he was almost out the door, Snape said his name and he turned back.

"I order you to be fully clothed in my presence unless you have no power to stop it. Don't try that trick on me again." Harry flushed red, nodded, and closed the door. _Too bad I can't order him not to blush,_ Snape thought as the door closed.

* * *

><p>After supper, Harry and Hermione entered Snapes quarters cautiously, but Snape was engrossed in the paperwork on his desk and didn't even look up. The two sixth years greeted the man quietly, but when there was no response they proceeded to the library.<br>Hermione was soon awash in books, some of them completely unrelated to the project, and Harry was having a hard time concentrating. He left Hermione to her studies and wandered back into the sitting room where he found Severus reading on the couch. He sat in the armchair and waited until Snape looked up, and cut off the potential order to leave by asking a question.

"Do you remember the logic puzzle you created to protect the philosophers stone, in my first year?" Snape looked briefly rebuffed by this abrupt topic, but he answered in the affirmative instead of sending Harry away.

"What brought this up?" The older man asked.

"I was just wondering. Since the object of the thing was to keep _anyone_ from the stone, couldn't you have made _all_ of the vials poison? Maybe not a poison that would kill, but immobilize. Instead you made it possible for someone to proceed, even though the idea was to keep everyone away." Snape frowned.

"I'm surprised you even thought to wonder, Potter. However, you're wrong about the object of the task being to stop someone from retrieving the stone."

"Then what was it?" Harry asked, utterly confused.  
>"Dumbledore asked each of us to create an obstacle that was possible, but difficult, to break through."<p>

"So he meant for all of that to happen?" Snape sighed.

"I'm not sure. Obviously, if you hadn't been there, the Dark Lord would never have been able to retrieve the stone, as the Headmasters enchantment of the Mirror of Erised was without loopholes. So Quirrel would have remained without the stone, but the Dark Lord would continue to be a menace to the grounds, and Albus would not stand for that. This could only mean that Albus had thought you'd be capable of defeating the Dark Lord once again, and effectively eradicating the problem while keeping the stone safe."

"But I nearly _died_." Harry said, horrified at the thought that the Headmaster had orchestrated the whole thing.

Snape thought for a while. "I don't believe he intended to be gone from the Hogwarts grounds when you went after the stone, and I don't think he planned any of it. I believe he put certain things in place that would either assure the Dark Lords failure, or his temporary destruction. I don't believe that he expected you to need to face Quirrel for so long a time, alone, and I believe he intended to be more in complete control of the situation. Not to mention…you _didn't_ die." Harry thought about that, but when he was about to say something else, Hermione called to him from the library. He smiled at Severus and left, while the now disgruntled man returned to his book.

* * *

><p>Harry and Hermione had a breakthrough two weeks later, after long hours spent almost every night in Snapes library.<p>

Harry and Snape had come to a sort of accord. Snape would be civil, and Harry would make a strong effort not to be tempting or conniving in any way. Harry had yet to convince Severus to talk to him about what else had happened at the last meeting, but Snape had seemed to relax slightly when it became apparent that Harry wasn't going to force the sexual issue or throw any sort of fit. Instead they spent most of their time together reading, and sometimes even talking about the safer subjects.

Hermione and Harry were in Snapes private library when Harry finally asked a simple question.

"How does compulsion work in the first place?" Hermione looked distracted, but she answered readily enough.

"If the person even slightly desires something, compulsion amplifies that desire until it becomes necessary for that person to act upon it."

"So why does Snape desire to attend Voldemort?" Harry asked, confused. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"I had assumed it was because he feels that your parents death are his fault, and by being a double agent for Dumbledore he is able to in some way repay that debt. His desire to go to Voldemort is rooted in the desire to right the wrong." Harry chewed on this, never having thought of it in this light. It only made Severus seems more noble and brave, more of a good man than Harry already thought he was.

"But how could we eradicate that desire?" Hermione looked exasperated.

"We're not trying to make him stop wanting to go to Voldemort, we're trying to end the spell of compulsion in the first place, or find a solution to the problem that requires him to be a double agent."

"So I can either defeat Voldemort, or reverse the compulsion." Hermione started to lecture him, but stopped.

"Harry…the Patroni-Cliens spell will eventually conflict with Voldemorts compulsion, if it hasn't already."  
>"What do you mean, they're completely different spells Hermione!" Harry was getting frustrated.<p>

"Well, going to Death Eater meetings is inadvertently placing both you in danger. And the Patroni-Cliens spell obligates the Patroni to keep the Cliens safe." Harry thought this through.

"So the spell will hurt Severus if he keeps going to meetings?" Hermione nodded.

"But he still desires to go to meetings, and the compulsion still works! Hermione, he'll be pulled in two!"

Hermione looked pained. "We have to find a way to release him from this compulsion." Harry and Hermione returned to their study with renewed vigor, and after an hour Hermione looked up.

"Harry…don't get too excited, but I've thought of something." Harry looked excited anyway, and Hermione shook her head and plowed on. "As far as anything I've ever read, the compulsion can only be revoked by the person who casts it, or when that person dies. However, there's nothing that says we can't change the compulsion spells target." Harry's brows creased.

"What do you mean, Hermione? Voldemort placed the Dark Mark on Snape himself."

"And the Dark Mark carries the compulsion. But with magic, we could transplant the tattoo and the spell…"

"Onto someone else. But that person…"

"Would only be compelled if they had _any_ desire to see Voldemort."

"So if we transplanted the spell and tattoo onto someone who doesn't want to go to Voldemort…"

"Snape would be free." Hermione was looking at Harry with hesitance.

"I volunteer," Harry said at once, and Hermione hit him smartly on the chest.

"Idiot! You WANT to see Voldemort because you desire to defeat him! It can't be you!"

"But Hermione, I've resisted the imperious, and I don't want to _go to_ him, I want him to come to me! I would never, ever want to be compulsed by him, or to go to him for any reason. I would want to meet him by chance, or an agreed upon place, or for him to come to me. But I have no desire to _go to_ him." Hermione looked thoughtful.

"I'm not sure the wording matters all that much, Harry. Your desire to _face_ him could easily be construed as your desire to _go to_ him. It would depend on the wording of the original spell. Compulsion spells are usually required to be very specific. If it is to _serve_, for example, that's not something you'd ever do."  
>"Which we'd need to ask Severus about."<p>

"Wait. Let's work out how to perform the transplant, first, and how to give Professor Snape an identical tattoo with the ability to hear the call, but no compulsion to follow it, giving him the opportunity to continue as a double agent without being in direct danger of compulsion. Once we work that out, we'll propose the solution."

Harry agreed grudgingly and they both set to work with renewed energy.

* * *

><p>A week later and Harry and Hermione had exhausted themselves with a solution. They went to Snapes quarters as usual, but this time they stood in front of his desk while he graded papers, waiting.<p>

"What," the man snapped, annoyed.

"We have a proposal, and we'd like you to promise to hear us out before you decide." Snape looked suspicious and angry, but he nodded once. Hermione took a deep breath, and began.

"First, Harry and I decided that, since we weren't raised in a wizarding family, it might be possible for us to think beyond restrictions when it comes to magic, at least more easily than a wizard-born person might. Harry came to me at the beginning of this year, wanting help in his endeavor to figure out a way to circumvent or stop the compulsion behind the Dark Mark." Snapes eyes held both surprise and reprisal as they locked on Harry, promising something dire. Hermione continued hurriedly. "We found something." Snape looked at her and raised his brows.

"The compulsion can't be lifted, obviously," Snape looked ready to say something scathing, so she hurried on before he could, "but it can be moved."

"And give someone else this burden? You mock me." Snape looked ready to curse someone, and Hermione waved her hands in front of her hurriedly.

"No! Compulsion is rooted in the desire, if there's no desire, then there's no compulsion. If the compulsion was moved to someone who had no desire to go to V—the Dark Lord, everyone would be safe from it."

"And I volunteer," Harry said firmly. Snape stood, fury evident in every line.

"Absolutely not! Potter, you more than anyone have a desire to see the Dark Lord, are you mad or just idiotic! Thank you very much for your _concern_, but you will leave this be and neither of you will step foot in my library again!"

"Professor!" Hermione exclaimed, causing Snape to turn back to them. "The wording of the compulsion needs to be highly specific, or else it doesn't work properly. If you were compelled to _serve_, for example, we all know Harry has no desire to do that. If you were only compelled to _go to_ him, Harry doesn't have that desire either. If you were compelled to _see_ him, that's what would be a problem."

Snape looked thoughtful for the first time since the two had entered the room, but his eyes were still furious.

"And what happens if a situation arises where Potter must serve the Dark Lord in order to save someone he loves, such as you, Miss Granger?" Harry stood firm.

"I would have zero desire to serve _him_, even to save myself or those I love." Snapes eyes narrowed.

"Not even were you in my position, Potter?" he said quietly, deadly. Harry mussed his hair, a very James thing to do, which intensified Snapes glare.

"That's the point. You're in that position, not me. Hermione and Ron aren't going to have children any time soon, so their potential death and leaving a child that I feel I need to look out for isn't really a possibility. If he kills anyone I love, it will only make me more angry, not willing to serve him. And if he captures anyone, I would rather die than serve him. And the people I love would rather die, than have me serve him." Snape eyed him, but some of the heat had gone from his face.

"No, Potter." He said simply, and Harry bowed his head.  
>They had lost.<p>

* * *

><p>Three days later, Snape was once again called to a Death Eater meeting. Harry once again spent the time pacing, wondering how on earth he'd gotten to the point of pacing worriedly in anticipation for his once-hated potions professor to return from a Death Eater meeting.<p>

When Severus returned, he was clawing at his own arm, furiously attempting to remove the tattoo. The sight was too strange to Harry, it took him a minute to process, then stand from his seat on the couch. By the time he was halfway across the room, the other man had pulled out his wand.

"Severus!" Harry cried as Snape pointed his wand at the Dark Mark. The skin above and below the Dark Mark split open and began seeping red, but the tattoo remained untouched. Snape turned to Harry, but stumbled to his knees and let out a blood-curdling scream, disproportionate to the apparent wounds.

Harry didn't understand, he couldn't, but he knew it was somehow connected to the Dark Mark. Panicked, he grabbed Snapes arm, placing his hand directly over the tattoo, and invoked the spell Hermione and he had prepared.

The spell was meant to be performed by two people with the consent of the object, but there was no time, no time at all, and Harry improvised, hoping it would be enough. When he had finished the invocation, Snapes screams never abating, blinding pain gripped him, and he knew no more.

* * *

><p>When he woke, he was on the couch with a blanket, his right arm burning. He stared around blearily, nearly blind without his glasses, but he recognized the dark shape of Severus on a chair to his right.<p>

"What…?" Snape handed him his glasses, and he grabbed them with his left hand; his right arm hurt too much.

"What did you do, Potter?" the question was rhetorical, and didn't hold a bit of malice. Harry wasn't sure, but since Severus was no longer writhing in pain, and his arm burned like fire, he assumed the switch had worked.

Harry donned his glasses and sat up. Severus was looking at his white right arm, touching the smooth skin. Harry hesitantly drew out his own right arm from under the blanket, and although he was expecting it, it was still a shock to see the Dark Mark there.

"I could leave, Potter." Snape looked up, face unreadable. Harry looked steadily at him, not doubting for a moment that he would stay.

"I could release you from this cursed Patroni spell, and leave. Hide. Go abroad. What's to stop me?"

"You're free," Harry said firmly, and for the first time he saw a hint of confusion on those eyes.

"No man should fight—even if he wants to—when he's not free to choose. Go, if you want. I wouldn't blame you. I'm stuck in this any way, with or without the Dark Mark, since I'm…since I was named in the prophecy. But if you really want to go…I won't blame you."

Snape stood and paced. Freedom was a heady thing. Regardless of his conviction, Harry felt a pang of loss at the idea of the man really leaving. He knew he wouldn't—probably—but it hurt nonetheless. Severus stopped in front of Harry, snatching him by the wrist and touching the Dark Mark with his other hand. Harry winced, and Snape looked curiously at him.

"It hurts?" he asked.

"Didn't it hurt you, when you got it? My whole arm is burning." Snape sat down heavily beside him. There was a long, taunt silence, where Harry fidgeted and tried to move his arm into the least painful position. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Severus spoke.

"You deserve to know what was happening when I returned." Harry waited, but it was another few moments before the other man spoke again.

"The Dark Lord discovered my relationship with you, that I was able to compel and order you. I don't know how, but he knew. He ordered me to bring you to him. When I returned, my body was being torn between the compulsion to serve the Dark Lord and my obligation to you, to protect you. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't done what you did, but I believe the Dark Lord didn't intend for me to return, to live."

Harry sat quietly, horrified.

"I believe that burning is the call—the compulsion to serve. But since you have no desire to do so, it merely burns."

"Do you think it will keep burning?" Harry asked, uncomfortable. If it was going to burn until he killed Voldemort—what an incentive!

"Doubtful." Snape smirked. "I can make a potion to cease the sensations. It never mattered for me, since my desire to serve compelled me to go anyway. But I've always been able to stop the burning if I wanted." Harry nodded. "I will do so now." Without another word, Snape stood and entered his potions room, leaving Harry wondering on the couch.

The other man had never said he'd stay, nor implied it. Harry was torn between worrying that he'd be abandoned by Severus, and firmly glad that he'd managed to set him free. He was positive that, had the switch happened under any other circumstances, Severus would have been furious. This quiet, introspective version of Snape was not only new, but terrifying.  
>Harry looked down at the large, twining snake and skull, black against his tan skin, and knew that after this, nothing would ever be the same.<p>

* * *

><p>AN: HI! So yes, I'm back. Also, this chapter was kind of rushed. I'm sorry about that. I got the urge to write, and didn't want to let it go because I was afraid I wouldn't, which would mean disappointing my lovely readers, all of whom have probably given up on me anyway. Let me say, I do plan to continue this, as well as Invictus. I will be updating Invictus and this story back and forth, but I still can't promise regular updates. In the past year I have moved twice, gotten a boyfriend I will eventually marry, gone back to school and changed jobs three times. This is a time of major upheaval for me, and although I can spot some calmness on the horizon, it's not over yet. So, I'm sorry for the long wait. I will be taking both stories off of hiatus and updating them at LEAST every three months, but I can't promise weekly or monthly updates at this stage of my life. Just know, I DO plan to finish both stories.  
>Also, reviews are like carrots to me. If there's enough of them, or just some good ones, I will push out more chapters, more quickly.<p>

PS: This story will have a happy ending. Sorry, angst fans!  
>Much love,<br>Cozy


	9. Chapter 9: To See the Unseen

A/N: Here's more!

Chapter Nine: To See the Unseen

_Walking on water seems perilous  
>Now you got my trust and it feels, and it feels like sabotage<br>When I'm pulling triggers back on myself  
>You know it is all I know, it's all I know<em>

Severus Snape was brewing a potion, which wasn't in itself an odd thing. The odd thing was the potion itself; a pain reducer that affected a specific area and relieved all pain. He rarely brewed these; more often than not, he preferred to feel his injuries, and the hospital wing didn't need a large stock of them but once a year. Severus was brewing a potion to take away the pain from a Dark Mark, but it wasn't for himself. No, it was for Harry Bloody Potter, and Severus Snape was still reeling from the recent events.

His mark was gone. That hated, ugly, obscene sight on his arm—gone. For so long, any time he had glanced at it brought immediate pain. Guilt, shame, rage, and self-loathing suffused him if he even caught a glance of the wretched tattoo. And the memories would surface, causing him to tear his eyes away and force them back down. Death, control, and power, memories of too many nights he'd rather forget. But above them all, the memory of _that_ night.

The Dark Lord had planned the Potters destruction with his Death Eaters, seeking a diversion for the night of the attack. While his fellow Death Eaters had spoken up, excited, Snape had stood there in quiet horror, understanding in a full, brief moment all that he had caused. Severus had known in an instant that there was only one person who might be able to save them.

He had gone to Dumbledore moments after he had learned of the plan to attack the Potters, before it was even set in motion. _I'll do anything,_ he had begged, and Albus had set his price. Severus had henceforth been a double agent.

The Dark Lord had known of Snapes friendship with Lily, though it had of course tapered off by the time she had her son. After the night of the Potters demise, the Dark Lord had forced his own memory of their deaths into Snapes mind, assuring him that it was for the best, that love was a restriction to those who sought true power.

The agony and rage that had burned through Snape at that instant had been the biggest obstacle he had ever faced with occlumency; keeping the Dark Lord from knowing whom the rage and hate was directed at, from knowing that he had turned a once faithful follower into a bitter enemy.

Every time he saw the Dark Mark, every time it burned with the call of the Dark Lord, hate and rage and pain burned inside him along with it. And now that Dark Mark was gone. With some kind of twisted parody, it now marred the skin of Harry Potter.

Snape was not sure he could forgive the boy for what he had done, though the logical side of him knew that Harry had done the only possible thing, saving his life in the process. Harry had taken away his constant, ugly companion which reminded him of why he did what he did. It was a reminder of a promise of vengeance, of a debt owed that could never be repaid. It was a burden, but it was _his_ burden and it did not belong inked into the skin of the boy sitting in the next room. It marked him, marked him as a man to stay away from, to avoid, and to fear.

Severus was also struggling with the fact that Potter had saved his life. Severus did not like to owe debts, and after what had happened, he now owed three debts to the Potters that he would never be able to fully repay. Severus Snape did not like that, he did not like that at all.

* * *

><p>Harry was agitated, unable to continue sitting and staring at the Dark Mark that now marred his skin. He made his way into the potions lab, standing in the doorway and watching Severus unnoticed for a moment while the other man brewed. It was a rare time, to see the other man so unguarded and focused. He wore a look of concentration as he added different ingredients to the potion, even muttering to himself under his breath as he considered his work. When he noticed Harry, the mask slipped back into place.<p>

"I'm nearly finished here, Potter." Harry ignored the tone and sat in the chair, which sat to the side as though it wasn't supposed to be there.

"I just didn't want to wait out there, anymore," Harry offered by way of explanation, eyes drawn back to his forearm. Snapes eyes drifted to where Harry was looking, then skittered away as if flinching.

"That mark was meant for me, Potter." Snape looked away from Harry and continued brewing.

"Sorry, next time I see you screaming in pain I'll just sit and watch," Harry snapped. The enormity of what had occurred was still settling in, and that mixed with the potential of Snape leaving for good was making him edgy. Snape turned around, seeming to ignore the potion as he regarded the boy.

"So are you the carrier of others burdens, then, Potter? Do you just go around, picking them up, and taking them on yourself like some kind of _savior_? That mark was meant for me, not you." Snapes words dripped contempt. The comment had hit too close to home; all the people Harry had never been able to save, all the people counting on him to do just that, and Snape turned around and wants to know if he has a hero complex? He stood, hands balled into fists and shaking.

"Yeah, so maybe I care about people. But do you really think I'd just walk up to anyone else with a Dark Mark and say, hey, let me take that from you? What is _wrong_ with you? I care about _you_, and you were screaming and all I could tell from your actions was that your Dark Mark seemed to be _killing_ you!"

"It was my _Mark,_ Potter! My actions, my shame, my burden to bear! Are you _happy_ to have set free the man who killed your parents?" Snape stood glaring at him and Harry stared back, finally realizing why the other man was so upset.

"You didn't kill them, Severus." He said quietly, and Snape turned back to the potion with a sound of disgust.

"Details," he said dismissively, bottling the finished potion.

"No, they're not just details! You made a mistake, but you sought to fix it before the Dark Lord moved to attack my parents! If you hadn't told Dumbledore, then you might share some blame. But because you did, Doubledore took measures on your word! You helped protect them!"

"And without my _word,_ Potter, the Dark Lord wouldn't have sought you out in the first place! Besides, my information was useless, it didn't save them." He said bitterly.

"No, but if anyone killed them, it was Pettigrew and Voldemort! Where would we all be now if you hadn't told Voldemort about the prophecy? We'd be living under his rule! If he hadn't marked me, there would _be_ no chosen one, no one who has this 'power the dark lord knows not.' Now, I have no bloody clue what kind of power I have that he doesn't, but none of that would have happened, and there wouldn't _be_ any hope!"

"So you'd rather be the _chosen one_ then have your parents back, Potter?" Snape asked vehemently, thrusting the finished potions into the boys hands.

"No! Bloody hell, Snape, of course I don't want that! I'm just saying that it was prophecy, it was bound to happen to either me, or Neville, and the whole situation is a lot more complex than you're implying!"

Snape reached forward and grabbed Harrys arm painfully, making the boy cry out as the older man dug his fingers into the already burning Dark Mark.

"_This_, this was meant for me—never you. You should have let me die." He glared into Harrys furious eyes for two long, silent moments before dropping his arm and stalking away.

Harry watched the other man leave, swallowing down the potion and letting out a long-held breath. He wasn't sure, but he thought he understood why Severus was so upset; in a way, Harry had taken away his purpose, his sense of vengeance and repentance. Harry had no doubt that Severus still felt those things, that the other man still intended to go on fighting the Dark Lord, but at this moment it must feel like all he had been working for was taken from him, like the potential for his own absolution had been withdrawn, and someone was saying he had been judged, and found wanting.

Harry thought what it would be like to have his scar—and the side effects—abruptly taken from him, and given to Snape instead. In some ways it would be a relief, no longer being the chosen one, but in most ways it would cause him to feel angry. Terrible things had happened to him, unforgettable things that could not be righted, like the death of his parents, or watching the Dark Lord be resurrected thanks to his bloody, unwilling contribution. All of these things were tied to his scar, and his scar was tied to who he was. If Snape had taken his scar unto himself, he would have felt like a part of him—a part of his person and his purpose in life—had been snatched from him and the ugly burden it represented given to someone he cared for. Yes, such a thing would make him quite angry indeed.

Harry found Severus at his desk, and he approached the man carefully, sitting on the arm of the couch and facing him so as to give him space.

"I think I understand why you're upset," He began. Snape looked up from what he was doing to glare at Harry, the rage of the moment having not left his features.

"I highly doubt that, Potter." Harry ignored this.

"No, I mean it. I thought about how I would feel if you somehow took my scar and put it on yourself. As much as I hate my scar, as much as I wish I could have parents instead of a scar, I'd be furious with you for taking it from me." Snape returned to his papers, seemingly ignoring Harry, who plowed on. "When Hermione and I came up with this spell, we found a way to recreate the Dark Mark without the compulsion. It will still burn when the Dark Lord calls, but you won't be compelled to follow. We thought you might want to continue as a double agent, regardless of how dangerous it would be, and we wanted to make sure you had every option; that we wouldn't be forcing you to choose a different course by taking your Dark Mark away." Snape was now looking at Harry without emotion, but he seemed to be processing the boys words.

"I'm sorry I took what is yours, regardless of how much you hate it, but I'm not sorry for trying to help you while you were in pain." He looked down. "I couldn't stand to see you in so much pain."

There was a long silence, broken only by Harrys fidgeting as Severus stared at him with unfathomable eyes.

"You're certain this spell won't recreate the compulsion?" the other man finally asked, voice implying that he didn't think Harry capable of such a thing.

"Yes, I am," Harry said, meeting his Patronis eyes for the first time since he ended his speech. The older man stood, coming to tower over Harry, who still leaned against the arm of his couch. He proffered his arm and rolled up his sleeve, staring into the younger mans eyes the whole time, as if weighing and measuring him.

"Then do it." Harry took the other man by the wrist, touching the intended area with his fingertips. On impulse, he bent down over Severus' arm and kissed the spot where the Dark Mark had been. Snape stiffened, but didn't move away, and Harry quickly withdrew his wand before the man could reconsider.

When the spell was done, Harry didn't immediately release Snapes wrist, and after a moment's hesitation he bent to kiss the Dark Mark. This time, Severus yanked his arm back violently, glaring at Harry in disbelief. Harry stared back steadily, holding up his own arm beside his head so that the other man could see the mark clearly.

"We'll do this together, then," he stated, before sliding down onto the actual couch and grabbing a book he needed to read for homework.

Severus stared at him for a long time before shaking his head and returning to his desk.

* * *

><p>The next night, Harry was with Hermione and Ron in the room of requirement, repeating the events of the past few nights. They hadn't had a chance to catch up in a while, and as it was they had already been there for two hours.<p>

"Can I see it?" Ron asked instantly. Harry grinned and rolled up his sleeve, showing the other boy the tattoo.

"Wicked," Ron exclaimed, a horrified Hermione looking on.

"Ron! That's the symbol of the most evil group of wizards in centuries, and it's on Harrys arm!" Ron shrugged and Harry laughed.

"They picked a bloody awesome design though, can't fault them for that." Hermione looked explosive, and Ron hurried on. "But the really cool thing is that it's _on Harrys arm_. Hermione—how's it going to look when Harry kills Voldemorts with his arm tattooed with the bastards symbol? Bloody amazing, is how it will look!" Hermione looked thoughtful and tilted her head side to side, thinking.

"I suppose I see your point," she said with a slow smile, and the other two grinned back.

"But what about the spy, Harry? I know you said nothing was certain when we talked last, but I'm really getting tired of wondering who it is, and who I can trust." She asked more seriously, causing the grins to die on the boys faces.

"I don't know, I haven't heard anything," he admitted, feeling guilty that he hadn't asked. With all that was going on, he had a hard time remembering everything.

"Do you think it could be, you know, something like what Rita Skeeter was doing in fourth year?" She prodded, and Ron perked up immensely. It was his family, after all, that was most in question, as they were so numerous.

"Hey, yeah! What are the chances?" Harry shook his head slowly.

"I don't know, but I'll bring it up with Severus tonight." At the startled look from his friends, he realized that this was the first time he had called his Patroni by his first name in their hearing. Shifting uncomfortably, he muttered, "It's kind of ridiculous to keep calling him Snape, at this point."

Hermione winked at him, Ron laughed, and the moment passed as all three soon spoke of other, harmless subjects.

* * *

><p>When Harry returned to Snapes quarters, he found no improvement in the other mans mood. If anything, Severus seemed more removed and cool, barely glancing at Harry before returning back to his grading. Any conversation Harry tried to start ended with a few brusque words from Snape, and after a while he gave up, troubled.<p>

Since the second-most recent Death Eater meeting, Harry had been sleeping fitfully in his own room, as he had been asked—or rather, told—to. It had been nearly three weeks now, and the lack of sleep and physical proximity was grating on him. He didn't want to act like a child about the matter, but with all that had happened he felt that it was ludicrous to go on sleeping separately. It seemed that either Voldemort was already aware of their relationship, or he was merely growing impatient, asking Snape to take him from Hogwarts by force. Harry wasn't sure what that all could mean for Snapes work as a double agent, but he was sure that it no longer mattered if they slept together. Deciding to approach the matter from the side, he breached the stiff silence.

"Are you planning to continue working as a double agent?" He asked, lying back against the arm of the couch, body stretched across the length. Severus didn't spare him a glance before replying.

"Of course, Potter." They were back, full time, to last-name basis, although the first name usage—at least in Harrys case—had only been occasional in the first place.

"I thought you said he must have discovered our relationship," Harry said, puzzled.

"If he had, it would have been through a source. And if I go back, it will be apparent that the relationship does not exist, and the source will have been caught lying to the Dark Lord." Harry supposed that made sense. Assuming the conflict between the compulsion and the Patroni bond hadn't killed Severus, the only two options were that one, there was no bond and Snape was unable to order Harry to do anything, and his attempts at using force were foiled; or two, that Snape was not loyal to Voldemort, which was something the Dark Lord probably always wondered about anyway.

It was actually rather clever of Voldemort to do what he had done. Either he gets rid of a disloyal follower by killing him with a conflict of magic, reveals the source to be inaccurate or planted, or he receives Harry Potter on a silver platter.

"Don't you think it might be safe, then, for me to be allowed to touch your bed again?" Harry asked, attempting a slight bit of humor. Snape looked up long enough to glare at him.

"No." Harry sighed, trying to keep control of his conflicting emotions.

"I still think you're not telling me something," he insisted. This time, the other man didn't look at him.

"It's not your concern, Potter."

"It sure as hell is!" Harry exclaimed, exasperated. "I _like_ you, I want to be able to sleep next to you, not to mention it helps with my nightmares. I want…" he paused, reconsidering. "I want to be able to talk to one another, to plan and work together and to fight this war together. I can't do that if I don't know everything."

"Your desire to get off has nothing to do with the war, Potter." Snape drawled, and Harry stood furiously.

"You—!" he cut off as his arm began to burn, looking in wide-eyed horror as Snape stood from behind his desk.

Harry was ready to get into another full argument about whether Severus should go tonight, but he knew it was useless. Instead he stood quietly as Snape prepared to leave. "For the record, I don't want you to go," he said as the other man left. Severus didn't acknowledge that he had even spoken, and when the door slammed behind him Harry sank to the floor, wishing he could go, too, as mad as that was.

_Talk to myself again, all alone, on my own  
>Walk by the scene again, just to see what people see<br>Caught in your stubborn hold, and I'm so far from home  
>So turn the lights on, turn the lights on<br>Turn the lights on for me  
>Keep the lights on, keep the lights on<br>Keep the lights on for me_

* * *

><p>AN: Review please? I'll be happy for ages and keep writing things!


End file.
